


didn't anyone tell you i was a savage?

by MaddyBee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sansa Stark, BAMF Women, Canon-Typical Violence, Cousin Incest, F/M, Family Bonding, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Reunions, Sansa Stark-centric, War, Warrior queens, Women Being Awesome, a little smut, and geographical ones, canon until season 4 episode 2, emotional journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyBee/pseuds/MaddyBee
Summary: Joffrey's dead, her family is gone, and King's Landing is anything but safe for Sansa.Instead of bringing her to the Vale, Petyr sends her away to Essos to keep her safe. He couldn't of expected her to learn how to fight, how to plot, how to be independent.When she returns to Westeros years later, she's not a stupid little girl anymore. She's a warrior, and she's ready to take back Winterfell, no matter who stands in her way.Reuniting with Jon along the way was just an unexpected bonus.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 266





	1. in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again with another fic because I can't just focus on one, I have to try write three at a time. (I will continue gold in our veins when I can find the document that had all my notes in oops).
> 
> This is about Sansa becoming a badass who can fight both physically and mentally, because who doesn't love strong female characters? It's going to be a journey with a lot of characters and it'll take a while to get the Jonsa goodness, but stick around because it should be fun. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hopefully it's a little distraction from the dumpster-fire of 2020.

It was morbid curiosity that prevented her from tearing her gaze away. 

She had never seen someone succumb to the deathly kiss of poison before, and it was both disgusting and fascinating. Everyone around her was jumping to their feet, watching in horror as Cersei cried out for someone to do something. But what could be done? And who gathered there would want to help even if they could?

Joffrey’s skin was purple, blood pouring from his nose and dripping onto his mother’s dress as he choked. She felt nothing as she watched, no horror or fear, not even pleasure. Her first and only thought was ‘who in Westeros had just assassinated the King at his own wedding?’

She didn’t have time to ponder this further, as a hand gripped her elbow with a stern hand. Her eyes immediately shot to the man who crouched by her side, trying to place the face. She recognised him as some palace servant or other that she had never noticed until a few days prior, his blonde hair and green eyes ensuring he blended in with the crowd of lesser Lannister relatives that filled the Keep. 

“Lady Sansa, you need to come with me now, it’s not safe for you here,” he ordered quickly, throwing a furtive look over her shoulder to check no one had noticed them, but of course everyone was too busy watching the King die a painful death. 

Her brain hadn’t caught up with her surroundings and she blinked at him in confusion just once before he frowned impatiently. 

“Listen, Cersei will blame you for his death, we need to leave while we can.”

Sansa turned from the mysterious man back to the wedding, worry starting to creep through her brain. He was right, Cersei would very likely assume it was her - even if she rationally knew that Sansa didn’t have it in her to take part in a murder plot, she was an easy target to pin the blame on. Clouded by grief, who knew what Cersei would do to her?

Resolutely, she rose from her seat, quickly but quietly following the man in a crouch as he let go of her elbow and led the way out of the castle through a back route she didn’t even know existed. He led her in a run the whole way, not letting her slow her pace despite her impractical shoes until they appeared at a tiny scrap of beach where a small boat bobbed on the serene waters. 

He took her hand to help her down the narrow, steep steps, but when they reached the bottom and he pulled her towards the boat, doubts had her pulling her hand back sharply. He huffed impatiently, fixing her with a hard stare as she swallowed heavily.

“Who are you?

He rolled his eyes dismissively. “It’s not important. All you need to know is I’m here on orders from your Aunt Lysa and Uncle Baelish. I’m to take you to safety.”

As he busied himself releasing the boat from its moorings, Sansa shook her head in bewilderment. 

“But, how did they know this would happen? Where are you taking me?  _ Who are you _ ?”

“Look,” he snapped impatiently, before taking a breath and continuing in a calmer tone. “I’ll answer all your questions, but right now we need to go. They  _ will _ come looking for us.” 

Part of her knew it was stupid to trust this man simply because he had said that he was on orders from her relatives, but what option did she have? They would have suspected her to be behind the poisoning anyway, but now she had run from the scene. She couldn’t look any more guilty. It’s not like she had anything or anyone to stay for, her family was dead and no one was coming to rescue her. 

Her hands turned to fists, nails digging into her palms as she resigned herself to her decision. The man held out a hand, which she begrudgingly accepted, to help her into the boat. She sat on the slippery wood and watched King’s Landing disappear behind her as he slowly rowed them away from the city. She smiled a little. 

Good riddance. 

* * *

Despite his promise to answer her questions, they rowed in silence. She didn’t want to risk angering him alone on this boat in the ocean, so she bit her tongue and trailed her fingers through the sea as she got lost in the blue sky and the rhythmic slapping of the oar on the water. She had no idea how long they spent on the boat, as once King’s Landing was lost to the slight mist on the horizon it was just endless azure ocean. He seemed to know where he was going though, rowing in confidence, and so she said nothing.

She was thirsty now, and hungry after barely picking at her food at the feast. She wondered what was happening in the castle, of what had happened to Tyrion. She had the realisation shortly after they left that there was a rather high chance he would take the fall for this. She felt sorry for the man, after all he had been kind to her, but what could she do to help him even if she were there? Comfort him through the walls of their adjoining cells?

It wasn’t until the hulk of a ship appeared in her periphery that either of them spoke again. 

“No one on there will hurt you, don’t worry.”

Sansa grimaced, staring up at the men running around the deck as their little boat bounced on the waves created from the ship.

“I wasn’t worried until you said that.” 

For the first time, the man smiled slightly in amusement. As they pulled up at the side of the ship, a rope ladder was flung over the side and he held the ladder and boat steady, reaching a hand to help her up. When they were stood toe to toe, he spared her a quick look before gesturing to the ladder. 

“My name is Rowan. Not Ser, or Lord, just Rowan.”

Sansa blinked in surprise, before smiling shyly at the man not much older than herself. 

“Thank you, Rowan.”

He nodded silently, and she turned to clamber up the rope ladder. There was no grace or dignity in the action, the rope rough under her hands as it rippled concerningly in the wind. She moved as quickly as she dared, and was met with another hand to help her onto the ship when she reached the top. 

This man was beaming widely at her, dark skin shining in the sun. He wore burnt-orange leather and a sash, a sword strapped to his side with a swath of material. It was attire she had never seen before. Even Rowan was simply dressed in basic brown leathers that were worn by any sort of fighter across Westeros. This man, however, didn’t look like he came from anywhere in Westeros. 

This was confirmed quickly when he spoke in a language she didn’t understand, but vaguely recognised as some sort of High Valyrian from her history lessons. He must have seen the confusion blatant on her face, as he chuckled and spoke again in the common tongue.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa. I am Naario, Captain of this ship. We are here to take you far from the people that wish you harm.”

He took her soft hand in his calloused one and shook it firmly, still grinning. Then he turned to shout orders in Valyrian to several members of the crew as Rowan clambered onto the ship and came to stand by her side. 

“I’ll show you to your quarters,” Naario offered, sparing Rowan a grin and a clap on the shoulder before he ambled away into the depths of the ship. Unsure, Sansa spared a glance at Rowan, but he simply nodded encouragingly until she walked after the Captain, the blonde close behind her. It was a cramped and basic room, nothing more than a cot and a basin of water squeezed into the space with ceilings so low that all three of them had to duck their heads slightly as they tried not to step on each other's toes. 

“It is not much, but it is a room rather than a bed in the bunkhouse so just remember it could be worse.” 

Rowan snorted at Naario’s cheerful comment, and Sansa almost smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“For now, you two must be hungry. Come, let’s get you fed.”

A few minutes later, Sansa was sat in a rickety chair at a large table in an empty room with only Rowan for company once again. The two of them ate in silence, the simple bread and stew a blessing to her aching belly, the sweet wine warming her from the inside. She chewed thoughtfully, barely aware of the distant shouts of the men on the deck. 

It was dark now, and it was befuddling to think that it was mere hours ago she stood in the Palace grounds, avoiding Cersei and Joffrey as best as she could by hiding in corners and hoping to stay invisible. Now, she was on a ship of men she didn’t know without a clue of where they were headed. Surely, she had a right to know. 

“Rowan?”

The blonde didn’t look up as he continued to guzzle his ale, but he made a humming noise which she assumed meant he was listening. 

“You said you were working on orders of my Aunt and Uncle - does that mean we’re headed for The Eyrie?”

Rowan paused mid-bite, casting her a strange look as he deliberated his answer. After a second, he resumed his chewing, slow and deliberate as his eyes dropped to focus on his plate. 

“No. We’re headed for Lys, there-”

“What?” Sansa demanded, spoon clattering to the table in shock. “Lys? Why? I’ve never been anywhere but the North and King’s Landing, why would you take me to Essos?” Her voice grew higher in pitch as she spoke, and a worrying thought struck her.

She stood from the table abruptly, backing up a step as her hands clenched into shaking fists that she attempted to hide in the folds of her gown. 

“How do I even know you were sent by my Aunt? You could be anyone!”

_ Stupid girl,  _ she thought desperately, self-anger and embarassment flushing her cheeks at her willingness to jump at the first offer of help from any stranger that came along. 

Rowan held up his hands placatingly, still seated but statue-still, eyeing her like she was a fawn about to bolt. Very slowly, he reached one hand into his pocket and plucked out a tightly wound scroll that he held out across the table. Able to see the hesitation in her face, he gently tossed the scroll onto her side of the table and once again held his hands aloft for her to see. 

In a single beat, she snatched the scroll from the table and tugged at the purple silk to reveal an unbroken seal she recognised as belonging to Baelish, the Mockingbird clear as day. Feeling a little reassured, she unrolled the parchment and scanned the letter as Rowan summarised her findings in a gentle tone.

“We’re to take you to Lys where you will stay as a guest at the home of the Doran’s. The patriarch is a magister, a member of the council in charge of running Lys, so you will be safe there. They are good people, and they will treat you well. When it is safe, Lord Baelish will send word and you’ll be brought back to Westeros to return to your home.”

That was what the letter promised, that she would return again as soon as it was safe - but when would that be? Would it ever be safe for her as the last remaining Stark? She wasn’t that stupid, she knew she was the key to the North and that many houses wished to have her for her position, so why would these people be any different?

Then again, the thought of leaving Westeros was strangely alluring. She’d never hungered for adventure the way Arya had, but she hated King’s Landing with a passion, and if she couldn’t yet return North maybe Essos would be a good substitute. Sansa sat back in her chair absentmindedly, rereading the scroll as Rowan patiently waited for what he was sure would be a barrage of questions. Her eyes were narrowed, and she chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she placed the scroll on the table and addressed the man.

“What is Lys like? I’ve only ever heard of it in relation to the poisons it produces.”

“Honestly? It’s an island of whorehouses.”

Her eyes widened in shock at his candid answer, but then narrowed in disdain at his playful smirk.

“Ok, so it’s more than that, but I’m also not lying. People come from world-over to experience the infamous brothels of Lys. The place is full of shady, untrustworthy people with sordid histories and dirty minds - not somewhere anyone would ever think to look for a lady such as yourself.”

“That’s clever, but I am still not particularly sold on the concept,” Sansa deadpanned, the wine having loosened her tongue enough to draw out the sarcasm. Noting that, Rowan pulled her goblet away from her to swig from himself, pushing away his empty plate to cross his feet on the table.

“It’s famous for other things as well, not just poison and brothels,” he reassured with a small smirk, gazing into the distance. “We make good wine and beautiful tapestries and intoxicating perfumes. The island is covered with palm trees and fruit trees, there’s actual sandy beaches between the rocks that stretch for miles and the water is so clear you can see the fish swimming beyond the shore. And you haven’t seen a sunset until you see a sunset in Lys.”

“And the family?” prodded Sansa, cupping her face in her hand as she leant forward to listen, enraptured. 

“As I say, Venro Doran is the head of the house and a magister. Be respectful and honest with him and you’ll be fine. His wife, Amari, is a beauty, and a very kind woman - don’t be fooled though, she’s fierce as they come. They have two children, Imar and Raya - Imar is 19, a troublemaker if I’ve ever seen one, and Raya is barely 6, a sweet little thing. They’ll take care of you.”

It was a lot to process, a change she never saw coming that was growing more ridiculous by the second, but a part of her was also excited. She was out of King's Landing, away from the grasp of Cersei and Joffrey - not that he could hurt her anymore anyway, she supposed. 

“I’ll be there as well, I’m your personal guard for as long as you’re on Lys,” Rowan added as an afterthought, rousing her from her musings. He winked at her, cheeky grin on his face. “Hope you’re not sick of me already because you’re gonna have to put up with me all day, every day.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, giddy from wine and tiredness and the abrupt way her life had tipped upside down. Rowan must have sensed it, as he was on his feet and opening the door for her before she could even try and stifle the coming yawn. 

“You can ask me more tomorrow, My Lady, for now you need rest. I’ll be outside your door if you need anything.”

It was surprisingly comforting to know he would be on guard, despite only knowing him for a handful of hours. He was kind, and seemed sincere, and right now she would take what she could get in terms of friendships. She still made sure to lock the door to her room before she stripped to her slip and crawled into the uncomfortable bed, sleep coming to her quickly despite the thousands of thoughts that were swirling through her brain. 

* * *

True to his word, Rowan willingly answered all her questions over the next several days. She learnt about the family, both those she would meet and their ancestors. She learnt about the island of Lys - where to get the best wine, where to watch the sunset, which streets to avoid after dark. She learnt about Rowan, how his father was a war commander for the magistrates and worked closely with Venro Doran, and how the Doran’s offered him a job as a guard for the children when his father was killed in battle. He also had a younger sister and a loving mother that lived not far from the Doran’s that he visited every Sunday, and Sansa could see in his eyes how much love he held for his family. 

She felt a pang in her heart at the thought - jealousy, maybe, or grief. She had no family to speak of, with Jon and Arya lost to the world and everyone else dead. The more she learnt of her imminent future, the more she began to see it as a good thing. A beautiful city, a kind family, a guard that would actually protect her? It was better than what she had just ran from. Of course, part of her remained skeptical. If nothing else, she had learnt that appearances could be deceiving and safety was never guaranteed. Still, there was little she could do but try to not get her hopes up. 

Instead, once she had exhausted Rowan’s patience with her badgering, she turned to other distractions. She had been checking out the kitchen when she finally met the chef, an elder woman with calloused skin and missing teeth who laughed louder than any of the men. The only other woman on board was a hardened sailor who looked too much like Arya for Sansa’s heart to take, and so she had kept her distance, secretly admiring the woman’s strength and agility from afar. On the third day, the woman had pressed a bundle of material into her hands with a blank face and a barked remark in a language Sansa didn’t know. 

The bundle turned out to be clothes; a white tunic and leather pants and boots, simple and practical, but most importantly, clean. Sansa was very aware that her dress was filthy and smelly after days of use, and appreciated the gift greatly. She had tried to thank the woman, but she hadn’t been bothered, disappearing immediately after giving her the clothing. It wasn’t anything that Sansa had imagined ever wearing, having never worn anything but dresses, but she was surprised by how much she liked the new outfit. It was much less restricting, and she was able to breathe and move more freely without the corset or excess fabric in the way. She also liked the way it looked - she looked strong, a woman of something more than the scared, sad girl she had been for the past several years. 

The cook wasn’t as threatening, and seemed to take a liking to Sansa. So the redhead helped out where she could, peeling vegetables and stirring pots and scrubbing every inch of the cramped kitchen. In return, the woman - Liana - told her stories of the adventures of her youth. She had been around Essos and Westeros and the seas between, and had countless, wondrous tales. From caverns of sparkling crystals to constellations of stars across mountain ranges, of wars with the Dothraki to the bright marketplaces of Dorne, she had seen it all. 

Sansa had always loved stories, and she found herself hanging off every word from the woman’s lips. She started to understand her siblings a little more. Their lust for adventure and adrenaline seemed much more reasonable to her these days - after all, what had come of her dreams? She thought she wanted to marry a Southern King and become a doting Queen, and all she had gotten was beatings from a cruel child, twisted mind games from a bitter woman, and an unwanted, loveless marriage. 

The change became more and more welcome, and as the days past Sansa found herself letting go of little pieces of her Kings Landing self. She wore her hair in simple braids rather than the complicated Southern style. She didn’t worry about dirtying her clothes as she laboured in a hot kitchen. She talked to any of the men who could speak the Common Tongue and learnt of their families and homelands. By the time Naario announced that they were approaching Lys, she couldn’t wait to start her new life. 

She raced to the deck and watched the horizon, breathing in the salty air as her hair whipped in thick ribbons in the breeze. The port of the island was vague on the distance, but it still sent a thrill of butterflies through her stomach. She didn’t know whether to be worried or excited, so she settled on both. Naario chuckled at her unwavering stare, leaving her be as he and his crew worked around her. Before long, Rowan appeared at her side with his bag, eager to be home.

They were nearly at the port now, and the blonde turned to her with a lopsided smile. 

“Ready?”

Sansa hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at the borrowed clothes on her body. 

“Just one more thing,” she decided, hurrying down the wooden stairs to her little room before rushing back up the surface. With a smile on her face, her dirty, wrinkled dress from the wedding was chucked into the ocean, her only possession lost to the waters as she left her past behind her. 

“Ok, ready.”


	2. currents and tides

Her toes wiggled in the soft sand as she walked slowly to the shore line, where she let the crystal-clear sea lap around her ankles with little care for how cold the water was. Instead, she breathed in deeply, the salt in the fresh air bringing a smile to her face as she closed her eyes and stood still to relish the moment. The only noise was the washing of the waves breaking on the beach, and the cawing of birds that circled over the water as they hunted. 

It was her favourite place, this little hidden cove that was only accessible through a broken panel in the fencing of the Doran’s orchard. Few knew about it, and even fewer actually came down there, so it was always a good place to come and decompress - to either remember things, or forget them, depending on the day.

Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes to squint at the horizon, the evening sun glittering on the sea like diamonds. She would never become accustomed to just how beautiful Lys was. Of course she’d been told, but seeing it for herself was a whole other story. The beaches, the water, the fruit trees and colourful flowers, they were all so exotic and awe-inspiring. Even the buildings here were prettier, all bright colours and carved wooden accents. Of course there were days she longed for Winterfell with all her heart - for the bright snow and cold air and roaring fires. She dreamt of direwolves and weirwood trees most nights, but still she was happy here. 

Yes, it was intimidating at first. It was a city of criminals and whorehouses, and she’d been dropped right into it with only strangers to offer her protection and companionship. It hadn’t taken long for her to settle into this new life, though. She could barely remember the timid girl she had been when she sat cowering in the boat as it pushed off from the shore of King’s Landing. 

She was absolutely not that girl anymore. Now she was a woman, a fighter and a she-wolf that could more than take care of herself. She’d had her first training session a month after her arrival on Lys, and hadn’t looked back since. She had been surprised to not only find that she was _good_ at fighting, but that she enjoyed it. Of course, it had taken a lot of time and work, the first few sessions having her out of breath in minutes, but she got there. Apparently, she was a natural, a waste of potential, but now she could really hold her own. She wasn’t big or particularly strong, but she was quick and clever. She could wield a sword, but it wasn’t really her style - a dagger or a bow and arrow was where her skills really lay. The skills that were required for fighting were ones she’d already been using, or at least that’s what her teacher had said - the precision of her needlework, the movements of her dancing, the steadiness of her hand from calligraphy - it was all applicable. 

Lovenna had been right, of course. Sansa could fight, and she was quite good at it. Her mother would have been horrified, but Robb and Arya would have found it hilarious, she was sure. She wasn’t sure what her father would have thought - pleased that she could defend herself? Worried that she was putting herself in harm's way? Regretful that she would be put in a position where she had to learn to fight in the first place? Maybe all three. 

Of course, practice was different from the real thing, and she had been in very few actual fights. She’d won them all though, so that had to show for something. No, she was definitely not the same girl she had been. Not the Little Lady Sansa of Winterfell, the uptight, shallow brat that dreamt of princes coming to save her. Not the jaded Sansa Lannister, with bruises from beatings and a desperate grip on survival that had her bowing her head and simpering at those who kept her captive. 

No one would ever hold her captive again. She would make sure of it. 

  
  
  


**_2 years previous_ **

  
  
  


Her first thought as she stepped off the private jetty and onto the marked little path winding up a cliff face was that she had never smelt air like this. It was fresh like Winterfell, but with the salt of the sea, and lacking the smell of disgusting things that permeated King's Landing from the depths of Flea Bottom. She’d trailed behind Rowan, too busy taking in the sights to match his swift pace. He seemed more amused than anything, though, so she took her time. 

The house in front of her definitely deserved the attention. The intricately carved stone boundary walls led down a further pathway lined with flowers she had never seen, and up ahead loomed the vast, beautiful home. Burnt orange in colour, with all sorts of sculptures and carvings, it was a world away from the grey stone and dark timber of Winterfell - a different kind of impressive. Near the entryway were a patch of blood-red flowers that Sansa couldn’t help but stop to sniff, deeply inhaling the sweet scent with a smile on her lips. 

“Incredible, aren’t they?”

The redhead quickly stood and spun to face the door, startling at the sudden female voice. On the step to the door stood one of the most breathtaking women Sansa had ever seen - long pale blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder in loose curls, her eyes were the same blue as the sea, and her pale pink dress was made from such light silk that she looked ethereal. Sansa could feel herself blinking in surprise, and she had to shake herself to remind herself of her manners.

“Lady Sansa, this is Lady Amari Doran, the matriarch of the Doran’s.”

Sinking into a deep curtsy, Sansa smiled demurely and sincerely as the woman stepped up to her quickly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Doran.”

“Please, my Lady, call me Amari - we’ll be living together, I won’t have you calling me by titles. We aren’t as strict about all that as you Westerosi are,” Amari grinned, taking Sansa’s hands and looking her over. “Gods, you’re skinny - and so pale! Lys will do you a world of good, I think.”

Sansa couldn’t help but be caught off guard by how nice this woman was. It had been such a long time since someone had seemed so genuine, and it was a highly refreshing feeling. So Sansa beamed and nodded her head a little. 

“Thank you so much for welcoming into your home, La- Amari. I am forever indebted to you.”

“Nonsense,” the blonde exclaimed, waving a hand in the air casually. “You owe us nothing. We were the one who owed your Uncle Baelish. Now, come on, I’ll take you to your quarters and let you freshen up and rest before dinner where you can meet my family. Rowan, you rest too, you’ve been travelling non-stop for weeks.”

Her saviour nodded respectfully, shot Sansa a cheeky grin, and sauntered off round the side of the house, leaving the women alone. 

“Come, the rooms are this way,” Amari encouraged, linking her arm through Sansa’s and leading her through the door and up the steps. “I will give you the full tour later, but I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed already! Ah, here we are, these will be your rooms.”

The large white doors were flung open by a guard, and Sansa gasped as she stepped into the room. It was a beautiful space, large and open, with a soft looking bed and carved furniture, but the thing that instantly caught her eye was the balcony. Her mouth dropped as she looked out over orchards and beaches and ocean. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to the view. 

“There’s a small writing room through here, and private chambers through that door for you to bathe and dress. Of course I’ve appointed you a handmaiden, Lara, a lovely girl, and Rowan will be your personal bodyguard. If you need anything you can come to either of them or myself. I will send Lara up before supper to help you get ready, but if you need anything in the meantime then Thay will be posted outside the door and he can assist you. Now, I’ll leave you to rest.”

With a pat on the shoulder, the older woman swept towards the door but turned back at the last second. “Oh, I forgot to say - everything in here is yours. We knew you wouldn’t be able to bring possessions so I’ve supplied some things for now, and we can get the rest another day, ok?”

“I can’t express my gratitude, My L- Amari,” Sansa replied in earnest, running a hand over the rich bedspread. With an amused smile, Amari excused herself and Sansa was left alone in her new room in this new home in this new city with a new family. 

It was overwhelming, but so incredibly exciting at the same time. The adrenaline was overriding the tiredness, so she took her time exploring every inch of her chambers. There were many thoughtful little touches - an ivory hairbrush on the vanity, a tapestry of dancing wolves on the wall, a selection of Lys wines in a dresser. There were two things that really caught Sansa’s attention though. One was the parchment and quill on the desk in the antechamber. It was such a small thing to make her emotional, but she hadn’t been allowed to send letters in King’s Landing. Not unless they were dictated to her by Cersei, looming over her shoulder and having the scroll whisked away with strict instructions that Sansa was allowed nowhere near the Raven Tower. It was an example of her freedom. 

She thought briefly of sitting and writing a letter, but who to? Robb and her mother and father were dead, and she didn’t know where any of the others were. In the end, she decided that she would write a letter to her Aunt Lysa and Lord Baelish later to thank them for her escape, but for now she had other things occupying her mind. 

The wardrobe was the main one. She hadn’t expected the pale wood structure to hold anything, but what it did hold took her breath away. Dresses, breeches, slips, underclothes, shirts, cloaks, even a selection of shoes. There was every style and colour imaginable, and Sansa ran her hands over the selection in awe, giddy with the excitement to try them on. 

After trying on every single item in the wardrobe, she settled on a simple light blue dress in the same style as the one Amari had been wearing earlier. It was strange to wear such light clothing - clearly corsets and boning weren’t such an everyday thing here, and that fact alone made Lys a thousand times better than King’s Landing - but it was needed in the heat that hung in the air despite the fresh breeze drifting through from the balcony. 

Hanging the dress up carefully, the heat seemed to greatly increase the tiredness that slowly spread over her, and she decided that a nap would be a good idea to prepare for meeting new people later that day. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been when a soft rapping at the door awoke her, but the sun was low in the sky and her room was awash in a pale orange light that had her instantly smiling. She let in the handmaiden, Lara, who she instantly took a liking to. They must have been a similar age, and the Braavosi girl was so bubbly and welcoming that Sansa was surprised at how quickly she felt at ease with the stranger. 

Once bathed and dressed, Lara led the way to the veranda where the family apparently dined most days. On the way, Lara told her a little about the family and Lys to help prepare Sansa for the meeting. As she approached the table in the orchard, Lara excused herself with a smile and Amari strode towards Sansa with a broad smile to kiss her on both cheeks. 

“My darling girl, you look gorgeous! Come, meet my beloved family,” she urged, ushering Sansa to the table where two men and a young girl stood to greet her. 

“This is my husband, Lord Venro Doran,” she began, gesturing at a middle-aged, well-built man with shining silver hair that nodded with a serious expression, taking her hands in his for a brief moment. 

“This is my son, Imar,” she gestured at a boy who must have been 5 or so years older than Sansa, with white-blond hair and a mischievous smile that reminded her oddly of Margaery. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles with a wink, murmuring a welcome under his breath. For a second, Sansa was cautious, worried for the attention, but his father cuffed him round the back of his head with a roll of his eyes and Imar simply laughed, smile relaxing into something much more friendly and honest. 

“And this is my daughter, Raya,” she finished, gently pushing forward a girl of 6 or so till she curtsied, looking at Sansa with wonder in her eyes. 

“I like your hair,” she mumbled shyly, twisting her hands in her skirts as if to keep from touching it. 

With a wide smile she hoped was friendly, Sansa crouched in front of the girl. “Thank you! I love yours too, it’s so pretty,” she returned the compliment sincerely, eyeing the silvery strands of her plaits.

Raya instantly perked up, blushing a little as she finally met Sansa’s eyes. “Thank you. I’m learning how to plait it, but mama doesn’t know how to, so I had to copy one of daddy’s visitor’s hair and teach myself.”

“I learnt how to do lots of plaits back home, I could show you if you’d like?”

Raya nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling, and Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the child. 

“Wow, Raya! Isn’t that a lovely offer? Lucky thing!” Amari cooed delightedly, placing a hand on both girl’s shoulders. “Now come on, time to eat before things get cold.”

The family took their places at the table, and an easy conversation started up as they discussed the family and their lives, and plans were made to explore Lys and the manor. It should have been awkward. Sansa should have been worried and uncomfortable, untrusting of these people. 

But, she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Not when they were so welcoming and forthcoming, not when conversation flowed and the scent of lemons hung in the gradually darkening sky. It was a million miles from King’s Landing, and she couldn’t be anything but happy.

  
  
  


**_Current day_ **

  
  


The dull thunk of clashing training swords filled the garden, the blows quick and fierce as Sansa and Imar danced around one another with grins on their faces. Sweat was dripping down her forehead, her bare feet were dirty from the soft grass, and there was a massive bruise on her shin from training the day before - this Sansa was nowhere near the same Sansa that had been tormented by Joffrey and Cersei. The two twirled a little more, Imar gaining ground that he quickly lost as Sansa swapped from wide slashes to a precise jab, eventually leading to the man tripping onto his back with the point of Sansa’s sword in his chest. 

“I win again!” she cheered, holding the sword aloft and mock-bowing at Raya who was clapping and whooping from under a nearby tree. Imar groaned in fake-agony, clutching at his chest as he writhed around to make the girls giggle. He then accepted Sansa’s proffered hand, staggering to his feet and chucking his sword to the ground. 

“Ok, that’s enough for the day, I’m exhausted,” he declared, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his tunic, a move that would have made his mother glare in complete disapproval if she had been out there with them. 

“Are you sure that’s the reason?” Sansa asked, voice dripping with fake innocence. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with slipping off to a certain whorehouse to see a certain Orla, would it?”

He sputtered, quickly tripping over his words in an attempt to defend himself that was lost under Sansa’s loud laughter. Giving up with words, he instead grabbed her in a headlock that made her shriek in surprise, Raya yelling at the two in encouragement.

“Kids, what happened to playing nicely?”

The laughing stopped at Amari’s words, Imar’s arm slipping from Sansa’s neck as the three all scrambled to make themselves more presentable. The woman smirked at their sheepish expressions, shaking her head affectionately. 

“Honestly, it’s like having three little boys sometimes,” she jested, and the three relaxed back into their giggles once it was determined she wasn’t the slightest bit annoyed. “Anyway, me and your father are having guests over for tea in a while, and they’re a very important couple of magister’s from his work so the three of you need to make yourself scarce for a few hours, please.”

“No problem, mother, I had plans to visit someone anyway,” Imar announced, reaching eagerly for the opportunity presented. “I’ll see you all for dinner.”

He blew kisses at the three of you, playing up as always, then ran back towards the house to wash up as you turned to Raya. “Fancy a visit to the market then sweetling?”

The girl nodded eagerly, clapping her hands in excitement. 

“Perfect, thank you Sansa,” Amari smiled, taking Raya’s hand. “Come on then little one, let’s get you cleaned up a bit. You too, Sansa!”

Once the dirt was washed away, Sansa dressed in a plain, grey dress and let her damp hair drift around her shoulders as she pulled on her boots and waited by the front door. Casting a glance in the looking glass, she was once again astounded by the difference two years had made. Her hair was shorter, falling just past her shoulders because it was more manageable than the elbow length it had been. Her skin was more tanned than it had ever been, still pale by most people’s standards but impressively freckled and glowing for a Northerner.

There was a small scar on her hairline from a fight that she’d gotten dragged into when trying to get a drunken Imar home from an inn, and she was pretty sure that if she had been scarred on her face three or four years ago, she would have been devastated. Now, there was a part of her that loved it, proud of how it made her look fierce. She was also more muscled, her tall frame less willowy and more toned from the vigorous training. 

It wasn’t just her appearance that had changed, though, but everything else. She was no longer timid and scared and sad all the time. She was bright and full of life, unafraid to speak her mind and stand her ground. She had also learnt things she never thought she would - about different weapons and fighting styles, and even battle tactics. She liked to think her family would be proud of the young woman she had grown into, even if her mother maybe would have saddened at the loss of her innocence and maiden-esque qualities. 

But Sansa would never herself mourn for the girl she had been, and that was all that mattered. 

“Need a moment alone there, Lady?”

Jumping back into clarity, Sansa smirked and spun to raise an eyebrow at the woman standing before her. 

“Why would I want to be alone when I could spend my time with you, Love?”

The brunette barked a harsh laugh, grinning wickedly. “As if you could handle me, Lady.”

Lovenna was one of Sansa’s closest friends in the world, and Sansa would be dead without her. That wasn’t an exaggeration, it was truth. In her second week in Lys, Sansa had been separated from Rowan on one of their trips into the city, and she had found herself lost in the maze of back alleys full of taverns and brothels. The people there were anything but savoury, and it hadn’t taken long before Sansa found herself backed up against a wall by two hulking men with rotted teeth, sinister smiles, and grabby hands. 

She had been screaming for help when a sword had stabbed straight through one of the men’s throats, the blood splashing on Sansa’s face as she scrambled backwards. The other man had barely even turned to face the disrupter when he too was impaled and dropped to the ground. In the sudden quiet, Sansa fought to regain her shaky breath and looked up into the eyes of her saviour. 

She was met with a woman shorter than herself, but more muscled than she had ever seen a woman before. She had olive skin and dark, hard eyes that held the slightest hint of concern as she looked over the cowering girl in front of her. She wore brown leathers and had an imposing dagger strapped to her hip, and although she didn’t even smile as she held out a hand to Sansa, the redhead still wasn’t scared of her. 

“Thank you,” she stammered out once on her feet again, gingerly stepping over the bodies of the men. “I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything, girl, and you certainly should never owe anyone your life - don’t let anyone have that kind of power over you.”

The brusque tone and clipped statement made Sansa blink, but she realised the woman was right in saying how stupid those words were.

“You’re right,” she agreed slowly, “but I’m still grateful.”

The brunette squinted at the girl, absentmindedly wiping the blood on her blade off on the shirt of the dead man in front of her. “You’re the girl from Westeros, aren’t you? The one staying with the Doran’s? And before you ask how I know, look around. You don’t exactly blend in here.” 

Sansa snapped her mouth shut, that exact question dying on her lips at how accurate the explanation was. Everyone here had light hair - white-blonde and silver - or impossibly dark hair, and it didn’t help that she was also significantly taller than most Lysian’s. 

“Sansa Stark,” she offered instead, bowing her head a little in the customary greeting. She still had to fight the urge to curtsy, rewriting the rules of society that she had been following since she could remember.

“Lovenna,” she offered shortly, turning to walk away without a backward glance. Sansa blinked, unsure of what to do if the woman simply left her here to fend for herself. She was about to call out when Lovenna spoke instead. “Are you coming or not?”

After dropping her back at the house and into the arms of a panicking Rowan, Lovenna kept appearing, until eventually she became a permanent fixture in Sansa’s life. What had first started as Lovenna convincing Sansa to let her teach her some basic self defence became Sansa begging for daily training sessions in all sorts of things - sword fighting, archery, hand to hand combat. The two grew close quickly, and Sansa now couldn’t picture life without the brash, rough-and-tumble sellsword from Myr. 

“I passed Imar on my way here, he was hurrying off with a dopey look on his face. Still pining for the whore, huh?”

“He loves her,” Sansa shrugged with a quick glance to make sure no one was around. “His father’s going to kill him when he finds out.”

Lovenna snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, good luck to him! Honestly, the boy could have anyone he wanted and he chooses a whore. Idiot.”

“You don’t choose who you love, Lovenna,” Sansa argued, dropping her voice at the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“Yeah, well, his life would be a lot easier if he just fucked them instead,” she muttered, and Sansa had to disguise her snort as a cough as Raya ran up to take each of their hands and tug them towards the door. 

“Come on, let’s go! Quickly!” 

She laughed at Raya’s enthusiasm, called a goodbye to Amari, and the three of them set off on foot along the winding path that would eventually lead to the market. Sansa always loved spending time with the two of them. Raya was a joy, an inquisitive and kind girl who was slowly growing out of her shy younger self. Sansa loved her like she was blood, and Raya gave her the chance to be the good big sister she had never been to Arya. There was sometimes a twinge in her heart when Raya reminded Sana of her missing sister, but she tried not to dwell on it. 

Lord Baelish had sworn to her in one of his letters that he would of course tell Sansa anything he heard of her sister, but so far there had been nothing. He said the same for Jon, although even through writing that promise seemed reluctant. She just wanted to know that they were safe somewhere. 

She knew that one day she would return to Westeros, to Winterfell, and she hoped with all her heart that it would be with Arya and Jon by her side. For now, she had others to rely upon, and her smile came easily as she watched Raya shriek in delight as Lovenna flung her over her shoulders and spun her around in the midday sun. Waves crashed against the rocks below, and the sounds and smells of the market drifted on the cool breeze, and Sansa knew that Lys was cemented forever as her second home. 

  
  


xxx

  
  


Hours later when Lovenna slunk off to her job as a guard at a whorehouse, and Raya had been sent off to her afternoon lessons, Sansa was making her way to the kitchen for a snack when the uttering of her name made her pause. 

She knew the voice as Lord Doran, the heavy accent and gruff tone carrying through the wooden door of the Lord and Lady’s solar. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, and she was about to walk on when the next sentence made her freeze. 

“You know marrying her and Imar makes sense! It would unite us with the North and open up an entire new trade link that we greatly need.”

“So who’s idea was this really? Yours, or the councils? She’s been part of our family for over two years, Venro, we will not betray her trust like this!” Amari sounded peeved, and although Sansa was in a state of shock, she couldn’t help but feel a streak of appreciation for the woman that soothed the burning betrayal Venro’s words had caused. 

“They know each other well, and that’s more than most betrothed get. She would remain a part of the family, and help shape the future of Lys. Is that really such a preposterous idea?”

“You can’t force her into this, Venro, she’s not our daughter. We don’t decide how she lives her life!”

Unable to listen anymore, Sansa fled back the way she had come and shut herself in her rooms. Her heart was pounding in her chest, panic rattling her brain as she paced in agitation. She couldn’t believe it. He wanted to marry her off. She and Lord Doran had never been close, as he was a serious man who kept to himself, but she thought that he respected her. This felt like a stab in the back, and instantly she was transported back to King’s Landing, with vicious whispers and cruel plots and political plays. 

She wouldn’t. She cared deeply for Imar, but as a brother, and she could never see him as anything else. Besides, he was already besotted with a girl he fully intended to wed one day, consequences and class differences be damned. No, she couldn’t. Subconsciously, her eyes drifted through the open door to her writing room and fixed on the letter still perched on her desk. 

It was one she had received a mere week ago from Baelish, one that offered the option of returning to Westeros to live with him and her aunt in The Vale. The idea held little appeal, and she had scoffed at reading the words, but it had started her thinking about returning to Westeros. She loved it here, but it wasn’t her home. She missed Winterfell with an aching heart, and knowing that she had siblings still out there somewhere alive - hopefully, by gods, hopefully - to find and return home with. 

She could do it.

Pack up her things and say goodbye to this lovely, but temporary, life and catch a boat back to Westeros. She could head North to the Wall and find out what had happened to Jon, then head South and find Arya. They could retake Winterfell from whoever currently resided there - the Boltons, she remembered, the fact appearing in another of Petyr’s letters - and make it their home again. 

It wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, and yet in her bones she knew it was the right one. She yearned for it deep in her soul, her Northern blood humming at the simple thought of snow and direwolves. As usual when faced with a decision, Sansa snuck out the house to avoid attracting a companion, and headed for the cove. There, she stripped of her boots and stockings, and sat in the sand with her feet being lapped by the waves and thought. 

She was there for hours, the sun dipped below the horizon and sky a dark grey when she had made her choice. The storm clouds rolled above her, the rumble of thunder threatening rain and the sea turning choppy as it splashed up above her knees. 

She could taste it.

The salt in the air, the change on the wind. 

It was time for her to go home. 

  
  


xxx

Her escape plan was nothing extravagant. She’d slipped down to the pier and asked around until she found a boat heading for Gulltown in the early hours of the morning that would grant her passage, then she headed up through the markets to the whorehouse where Lovenna would be, insistent that she had to say goodbye to the woman that had saved her. 

Pushing through the crowds of sweaty drunks and scantily clad women, Sansa made a beeline for the side room she knew Lovenna would be stationed. Sure enough, she was leant against a wall as she spoke quietly with one of the whores, twirling a curl of hair round her fingers as she smiled in her signature, cocky way. One glance up to see an amused Sansa, and she was excusing herself from the woman to grab her arm and pull her through to the pub, not saying a word until they were sat with flagons of ale in front of them. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here, Lady? Not looking for a whore of your own, are you?”

Shooting the smirking woman an unamused look, Sansa took a swig of her drink and barely bit down the following grimace. She would never get used to the bitter taste of ale, no matter how often Rowan and Lovenna had her drink it. 

“I’m leaving Lys,” she announced quickly, snorting as Lovenna spluttered and choked on her ale. 

“What? What do you mean, leaving?” she demanded through the coughs, eyes watering a little as she thumped at her own chest. 

“Lord Doran wants me to marry Imar-”

“You’re not serious,” protested Lovenna, sobering at the solemn look on Sansa’s face. “I would ask why but I’m pretty sure I can figure that out. So what, you told them you’d leave? Or they said you had to leave if you turned down the offer, because that’s a real cunt move.”

Taking another sip of ale, Sansa sighed deeply and ran her thumb over the grooves of the table in distraction. “Neither. I only know that’s what they are planning because I overheard them speaking earlier. I’m not sure if Lord Doran would enforce the plan, but I don't wish to stay and find out. Besides, I always knew I’d head back home one day, and I feel as if this is a sign that it is time for me to move on.”

Lovenna chewed her lip in thought, watching Sansa carefully as they sat silently for a moment. 

“When do you leave?”

The question took Sansa aback a little. If she was being honest, she had expected a little more of a fight to convince her to stay. Trying not to sound disheartened, she explained about the boat leaving the next morning, and Lovenna nodded thoughtfully. 

“Ok, well I better leave now then,” she declared, pushing away her flagon and standing from the table. 

“What? Where are you going?” Sansa questioned, tone hurt at the dismissal. 

Lovenna turned to the younger girl with a look that suggested Sansa was being an idiot. “To tell the bitch in charge that I quit, obviously. You didn’t seriously think I wouldn’t come with you, did you? I’m too used to having you around.”

Beaming from ear to ear, Sansa leapt to her feet and flung her arms around Lovenna, squeezing her tightly despite the half-hearted protests. Eventually Lovenna pushed her away with an eye roll and a smile, recollecting her ale to drain the dregs and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“I’ll meet you at the dock then?”

Sansa nodded eagerly, then the two bid farewell and Sansa practically skipped back to the house. She had been ready to go alone, but honestly she couldn’t be more relieved or thrilled that Lovenna was joining her. Excited for what was to come, Sansa wasted no time in packing up her belongings, leaving many of the items behind in part for convenience and in part for guilt, as it felt wrong to be running from the family and taking the things they had brought her with her. 

She packed only the essentials - clothes, her weapons, a few books and trinkets - and decided the rest could be left for Raya. Her excitement ebbed a little at the thought of never seeing the girl again, but she was resolute in her decision. She would, however, have to risk the possibility of Raya letting slip her plan because there was no way she could leave and not say goodbye to the girl. It would break both their hearts. Bags packed and ready by the bed, Sansa crept down the hall to the young girl’s room, listening at the door for a moment to make sure Amari wasn’t in there. Deciding it was safe, Sansa silently pushed the door open and smiled at the girl who immediately sat up in bed upon spotting her.

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“I know, I’m sorry, sweetling. I had things to take care of,” Sansa whispered, perching on the side of the bed and taking one of Raya’s hands in her own. 

“It’s ok, I’m just happy we got to go to the market today. I can’t wait to practice my sewing with that silk you found!”

Sansa’s heart squeezed, and she had to blink back tears. “That’s great, Raya. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, just like you.” She paused, exhaling slowly. “I actually have a secret to tell you.”

“A secret? I love secrets!” the girl chirped, wide eyes sparkling.

“I’m afraid it’s a secret that might make you a little bit sad, but just know that it’s all going to be fine, ok?”

The girl nodded, unsure but still eager, and Sansa bit her lip as she debated how to say it.

“Ok, well you know how I grew up in Westeros? Well, it’s time for me to go back there, to find my family and return to my home.”

Raya’s face crumpled instantly, but she didn’t cry. It still broke Sansa’s heart, and she quickly pulled the girl into a hug. 

“This doesn’t mean I don’t love you or Lys, but I need to be with my family just like you need to be with yours. Does that make sense?”

Sniffling quietly, Raya nodded against Sansa’s chest. “Will you come back?” she questioned in a tiny voice. 

“I don’t know, but I’ll try. And I’ll write all the time, and you can write to me and tell me all about your lessons and your friends and your stories.”

“Will you write everyday?”

Sansa smiled into the girl's hair. “Of course."

She was quiet, her little hands gripping Sansa’s back tightly before eventually speaking again. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, little one.”

The two talked a little more, Raya making Sansa promise three more times that she would write all the time, before eventually the girl fell asleep curled up in Sansa’s arms. Gently pulling out of her grasp, Sansa pressed one more kiss to her head and then left the room quickly to avoid crying once again. 

Wiping her eyes roughly, she headed for her next stop. Saying goodbye to Imar was just as hard, and although Sansa hadn’t planned on telling him about the marriage plan, he had eventually convinced her to. He had been just as shocked as she, angry at his father plotting behind his back and more adamant than ever to marry the woman he loved despite her lowly position. They talked for over an hour, sharing memories and fears, Imar offering her advice on her concerns about returning to Westeros. With another promise of letters, the two hugged a fierce goodbye and parted ways. 

It was almost harder saying goodbye to Imar because they both knew that they would very likely never cross paths again - convincing Raya that they might had almost fooled Sansa into thinking it could happen, which she knew was wrong. 

Thoroughly exhausted and emotionally drained, Sansa headed back to her rooms with the plan of writing a letter to leave for Amari. It was her husband who was plotting the marriage, and the woman had been nothing but kind and generous to Sansa over the years. She deserved to be acknowledged for that even if Sansa couldn’t say it in person. 

Already writing the letter in her head, Sansa jumped to the ceiling when she entered her rooms to find Amari standing at her balcony, staring out into the night. Panicking, Sansa shot a look around the room and tried to think of an excuse for the packed bags, but her mind came up blank. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Amari called, turning over her shoulder to meet Sansa’s eyes. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped, and the older woman laughed quietly, gesturing for Sansa to join her with a beckoning nod of her head. Wary, Sansa slowly padded out onto the balcony and leant on the wall besides her.

“I understand why you’re leaving. This marriage plan is ridiculous, but once my husband gets an idea in his head there’s no shaking it,” Amari sighed, and Sansa couldn’t help but stare transfixed at the woman as the moon made her pale hair positively glow. “We were an arranged marriage, you know? Didn’t meet face to face until the night before our wedding day. Of course, I grew to love him, but I was lucky in that respect. Imar would be a good husband, but I cannot sit back and watch the two of you be forced into a loveless union. You both deserve better.”

Sansa had no idea what to say in reply, still reeling in shock from the confession. 

“Besides, this isn’t your home. You are always welcome here, of course, but I see it in you, that longing for your home. It’s time for you to go back.” She turned and smiled lightly at Sansa, no judgement or negativity there.

“Thank you,” Sansa finally whispered. “For everything you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

Amari smiled, pulling Sansa into a gentle hug that reminded Sansa so much of her mother she almost gasped aloud. 

“Go on,” Amari encouraged as she pulled away from the hug. “You should try to sleep a little before you set off. Rowan will wake you when it's time to go.” Catching the confused look on Sansa’s face, Amari smiled. “I’m not letting you go off on your own. I know you and Lovenna can take care of yourselves, but I’d feel better knowing there’s someone else there to protect you as well.”

Before Amari could leave the room, Sansa hugged her once more with another whisper of gratitude. Then, left alone in her dark room, with her goodbyes said and bags packed, the excitement came back full force. Somehow, through the adrenaline she managed a few hours of sleep, awaking to a knock and sure enough, there was Rowan with a bag slung over his back and a grin on his face.

“Come on then, we’ve got places to be!”

Sansa smiled widely, dressing quickly and following the man out through the house and down to the docks where they were greeted by a barely-awake and grumpy Lovenna. As the two began to squabble over something or other, Sansa took one last look back at the house on the hill and the sweet-smelling orchard and the beach with its palm trees and golden sand. 

“Goodbye, Lys,” she whispered into the breeze, a wistful smile on her lips. It didn’t last long though, as as soon as he had rejoined the others and boarded the boat, bags dropped away in their tiny shared quarters, she ran back up to the deck and to the side of the boat. As the ship set sail, she breathed in the salty hair and undid her plaits so the wind could whip her hair around behind her, grin refusing to leave her face.

She was headed home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I'm back - hi! 
> 
> I know my writing is sporadic and all I can say is sorry, but I hope you still enjoyed!


	3. mountain paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and co reach Westeros, and make some unexpected companions.

The journey was a long one, and by the time the boat reached the dock of Gulltown, both Sansa and Lovenna practically leapt from the vessel in their eagerness to be back on dry land. Rowan laughed at them, of course, and took his time sauntering down the loading plank with his hands stuffed in his pockets, but Sansa knew he was as relieved as she was. 

It had not only been a long journey, but a difficult one. What had started as a painfully boring time filled only with drinking and what training they could manage in such cramped quarters had taken a turn for the worse at the halfway point when the storms hit. Watching lightning fork from the purple sky and into the sea on the horizon had been a true sight to see, but the aggressive rolling waves and torrential rain hadn’t been so fun. 

Sansa hated sailing. 

She hated it so much that the relief to be back on land had blinded the reality of where she was for a moment. She was in Westeros. Cheeks red from the wind on the sea, she grinned widely and took in all the sights around her. She’d never been to Gulltown before, but it was pretty much what she’d expected from a port town. Beyond the dock they stood on was a fish market and a collection of taverns, and in truth it was an ugly place, especially considering where they had just come from - but it was a massive step closer to her home. 

“Jeez, Lady, you’re practically vibrating with excitement over there,” Lovenna joked with an amused smirk, clearly unimpressed with Westeros so far. 

“I just cannot believe I’m actually here,” Sansa muttered in awe, blinking out of her stare to turn back to her companions. “Come on, let’s go.”

The three made their way off the dock and into the market, weaving through the crowds and turning down the pushy ware-sellers as they went. 

“Right, and where exactly are we going? Because I have an idea,” Rowan suggested, pointing beyond the market to a corner where a modest looking inn sat. Lovenna quickly cheered in agreement, Sansa shrugging and following the pair as they raced towards the prospect of warm food and ale that wasn’t stale.

She couldn’t deny, it felt like a luxury at this point to eat something that was freshly made, and there was nothing ladylike about the way she shoveled the pie into her mouth. They got in a few rounds of ale as they ate, but Sansa was on guard the entire time. They weren’t an inconspicuous group, none of them having the physical characteristics of someone from the Vale. Rowan looked like a Lannister, Lovenna was clearly foreign, and Sansa - well, she supposed she might still be wanted for the murder of Joffrey. Her red hair wasn’t a common sight, and she had seen a young boy clock her the second she’d entered the inn. He’d taken a head to toe look at her and disappeared out the back, so Sansa was sure to keep an eye on the door and a hand on her sword as she drank and laughed with her friends. 

“We should probably find somewhere to stay for the night,” Lovenna sighed after a while, slouched in her seat. “Should I see if they have any rooms here or look for somewhere else?”

Sansa shook her head. “No need, we have somewhere to go.” 

“Should we be going then?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll come to us,” Sansa insisted mysteriously, and though Lovenna and Rowan shared a look, neither commented on it. 

So they carried on drinking, and before long two men in polished, silver armor entered the inn and approached their table. Lovenna, ever suspicious, squinted at the men and had her sword in hand within a second, Rowan watching them carefully from her side. 

“Lady Sansa, we are here on behalf of Lord Baelish to accompany you to the Eyrie as his esteemed guest,” one of the men spoke, both bowing their heads respectfully at her. She still caught the way his companion had glanced them over though, and she bit back a frown. 

She was well aware that both Rowan and Lovenna looked like they were ready to start a brawl at any given minute - because they were - but she wasn’t used to being given the same look. She supposed she was wearing brown leather breeches and a tunic with a heavy cloak, bow and quiver on her back and her short sword at her hip, and that was perhaps the opposite of what the old Sansa would have been spotted in. Still, didn’t this man know it was rude to stare. 

Turning to Lovenna and Rowan, she quirked an eyebrow and smiled. “See, told you they would be the ones to find us.” She stood and bowed her head at the men, still smiling. “Lead the way then.”

Outside, there was a small gathering of knights on their horses, all wearing armor and brandishing banners, and Sansa almost rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten about the exhausting pageantry of Westeros. There were three spare horses, which they quickly mounted, and then they were off down the road with no further words. Sure enough, as they left she spotted the boy from earlier skulking around the corner of the inn - one of Petyr’s spies, she supposed. Before leaving Lys, she had sent Petyr a letter to know she was coming, and she had been unsure as to whether to expect a welcome party or not, but either way it was nice to have locals leading the way. 

To get to the Eyrie meant traversing the Mountains of the Moon, and it was a treacherous path for those unfamiliar with it. There were several forks in the trail where she was sure she would have gone the other way if she had been the one leading the pack, and she probably would have paid for that decision with their lives. They also passed multiple outposts with clusters of guards, and ravines where she knew archers hid overhead. 

If they hadn’t had guides, and she’d had her hood up disguising her hair, there was a decent chance they would have been killed. With their guides though, the trip was relatively simple, and they reached the Eyrie in the early hours of the night. 

They dismounted and the horses were led away, and Sansa looked up at the castle before her. It was an imposing structure, and she understood now why the castle was claimed to be practically impenetrable. It was also ugly, but maybe she just wasn’t used to the bland rock structures anymore. The guards led the way inside the castle, Lovenna and Rowan dropping into step either side of her. Rowan seemed to be entirely disinterested in everything, but she saw the way he was as poised for a fight as always, eyes glancing over every person they passed as if squaring them up in his mind. Lovenna was less subtle, her teeth gritted and her hand still glued to her sword. 

Rolling her eyes, Sansa nudged her with her elbow. “Don’t forget to breathe, Lovenna.”

The Myrish woman muttered under her breath, and didn’t relax in the slightest. 

They were brought to what must have been the central hall, a dias up ahead with a twisted wood throne at the centre. In the middle of the room were strange, circular shutters, and Sansa suddenly had a memory of something that her mother had told her of once. A Moon Door that they used as a form of execution, pushing people through and letting them fall to their deaths on the rocks below. 

Sansa swallowed, shifting minutely in discomfort as they were prompted to stand on the opposite side of the Moon Door, facing the empty wooden throne. The guards dispersed, lining the walls around the room as one left to presumably get Baelish. The room was lit by candles and moonlight, and the only noise as they stood and waited was the occasional clang as a guard shuffled in their armor. 

After several long minutes, there was the sound of footsteps from the staircase behind the throne. The guard appeared once more, followed by a couple who looked the exact same as they had the last time Sansa had seen them. Petyr wore a deep purple surcoat, an expensive piece that was much more fitting to Kings Landing then the mountains of the Vale. Lysa on the other hand, wore a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her waist, hair loose down her back and with a slightly manic grin on her face. 

Fixing her face into a polite, hopefully warm-enough smile, Sansa stepped forwards as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Uncle Baelish, Aunt Lysa, thank you so much for accepting me and my companions so graciously into your home,” she simpered, curtseying on muscle memory alone. She could practically  _ feel _ Lovenna and Rowan swallowing their sniggers behind her, but she didn’t let it distract her as Lysa was striding towards her with open arms.

“Oh, my dear sweet niece, there you are!” She pulled Sansa into a hug, one hand clutching the back of her head as she squeezed tightly. “We’re so glad you’re here! Finally, back in Westeros where you belong!”

Feeling his gaze heavy on her face, Sansa looked up and over her aunt’s shoulder to meet the eyes of Petyr. He stood several paces back, face frozen in a suspiciously pleasant smile. It made Sansa uneasy, in the same way some of his letters had. He always seemed so intense, and it worried her that he always seemed to know what was going on in her head. Shaking it off as Lysa pulled away, she put her smile back on as she was inspected at arms length. 

“You look so much like Cat. Such a beauty.”

The compliment was offered in a strange tone, the words trailing off a little as Lysa stared at her as if frozen.

“Yes, we’re very pleased to have you here in our home. I’m sure we have much to talk about, but maybe we should leave that for the morning.”

Petyr’s words seemed to snap Lysa out of whatever trance she was in, and the manic smile was back on her lips in an instant as she pulled away from Sansa to take her husband's arm. As Baelish called for stewards and maids to take them to the guest rooms, Sansa noted the way that Lysa was pressing herself fully into his side, staring at him with wonder while he seemed anything but interested. Interesting. 

She bid them goodnight, thanking them again for letting them stay, and then followed the maid out of the room. She could feel his stare on her back the whole way. 

xxx

  
  


Breakfast the following morning had been a chore. Baelish was still insisting that he knew nothing of Arya, that no one had heard of her since their father’s execution, but she didn’t believe that. He also had no idea of where Bran or Rickon were, and she had the distinct impression that the main reason was because he didn’t care enough to use his resources on the boys. He did say that as far as he knew, Jon was still at the Wall though, so it looked as if that was their plan for now. It had been a ‘family’ meal, just Sansa, Baelish, Lysa and her young cousin Robyn gathered in the solar. 

Robyn was a bit of a brat, but he seemed to like Sansa. He loved stories of Lys, and was adamant on spending time with Rowan after his studies. Sansa stayed patient with him, wary of the scrutinising gaze of his mother and step-father, but she was incredibly relieved when his Septa came to whisk him away. 

The table was silent without the boy, and Sansa sipped her tea quietly to try and keep busy. She was wearing a dress today, a long sleeved deep blue one, and though she loved how it looked, she felt a little uncomfortable. She had picked a dress because she figured it was a good idea to put herself forward as 'Lady Sansa' rather than the dirty, smelly girl who’d staggered off the boat the day before. She hadn’t realised that the stares Petyr had been giving her the night before were nothing compared to what they could be. He wasn’t even subtle, and Sansa tried to act like she hadn’t noticed, but Lysa had and was not as good at hiding her annoyance. 

“So, Sansa, darling,” she piped up in a sickly sweet tone, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re going North to see Jon then? I think that’s a lovely idea. When will you go?”

Baelish shot her a disapproving look, but Lysa pretended not to see as she stared unblinkingly at Sansa, waiting for a response. 

The redhead coughed awkwardly, trying not to display her discomfort. “Me and my companions will leave this afternoon, we don’t want to take advantage of your wondrous hospitality,” she reassured. 

“Nonsense, you’re welcome here as long as you like,” Petyr spoke up, and Lysa’s grip on her spoon tightened enough to make her knuckles white. 

“Honestly, it’s greatly appreciated, but we best be leaving sooner rather than later.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he acquiesced, motioning a steward over. “Have horses prepared for travel after lunch, and pack some provisions for our guests to take.”

Sansa thanked him and bobbed her head in respect, then stood from the table and smoothed her skirts. “This was lovely, thank you. I’ll go check on my companions now, make sure they know to be ready to leave later today.”

She walked from the room calmly, but the second she was out the door she let out a whoosh of breath and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “This is not what I expected coming back to Westeros,” she muttered under her breath.

Shaking off the weirdness of breakfast, she sought out Lovenna and Rowan and told them when they were leaving, then returned to her guest room to wait out the rest of the day in hiding. Unfortunately, the peace didn’t last. Shortly before she expected to be called for lunch, there was a sharp knock on her door and she opened it to find Petyr stood there. 

Cursing in her head, she smiled with fake shyness and lowered her gaze to appear submissive. “How can I help you, Lord Baelish?”

He smiled that knowing smile. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans. May I come in?”

She hesitated, but she couldn’t exactly say no. Wordlessly, she stepped back from the door and crossed to stand by the small window - right where her sword was propped up against the wall. He made himself at home, sitting at the small table and looking around the room. He seemed disappointed, maybe at the fact that she didn’t have a single possession unpacked. 

“I have an idea of how you can retake Winterfell.”

He certainly got straight to the point, and Sansa blinked, startled. A brief flicker of hope and excitement sparked in her chest, but her suspicion quickly pushed it down.

“How?”

“I know it may not seem like an ideal situation, but it would work,” he began, and Sansa folded her arms, watching him closely. “Lord Bolton has a son, Ramsay, he’s a little older than you. If you were to marry him, and then something were to happen to Roose, then Ramsay would become Lord of Winterfell, making you the Lady. Then it’s an easy step to get rid of Ramsay and have the Starks once again as the Head of Winterfell, and the Wardens of the North.”

She’d scoffed when he mentioned marriage, but he’d just carried on, and having heard the whole plan Sansa was beyond suspicious. There was no way in the Seven Hells that the man in front of her didn’t have ulterior motives, and he was an idiot if he thought she was going to go along with it. 

“I just left a place I called home because they wanted me to marry someone I didn’t want to marry. What makes you think I’d agree to this one?”

“Because you’d get your childhood home back. Isn’t that what you want?”

Sansa snorted. “Not like that. My plan involved a little more war and a little less marriage, thank you.”

He paused, seemingly thrown off by her brashness. The woman before him clearly wasn’t matching up to the broken girl he remembered her as. She could see the thoughts racing through his mind as he scrambled to salvage his plan.

“Remember the saying, keep your enemies close? This is your chance to take out your enemies from the inside, without the innocent bloodshed.”

“No thank you, Lord Baelish. I was married once, and I have no intention of ever being so again.”

He seemed to realise he wasn’t going to convince her, so with a sigh he stood and made for the door. “I understand. I think we could make a good team, you and I.” He stopped and turned back to her with a thoughtful look. “Go to Jon, build your army. I’ll be here when you need me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just strode from the room and left Sansa standing there with the feeling that although she had stood her ground and refused to go along with his plan, she was very much still a part of his plan. 

  
  


xxx

  
  


Lysa had been glad to see the back of Sansa, and Sansa was glad to see the back of all of them. From the second she’d stepped into the Eyrie her shoulders had tensed, and it wasn’t until their guides had led them back down through the mountains and through the Bloody Gate and disappeared back into the horizon that the tension finally released. 

“Does everyone this side of the Narrow Sea have a stick up their arse?”

Sansa laughed at Lovenna’s half-serious comment, turning her horse from where they’d watched the retreating knights to face the way they were headed. 

“Most of them, yes,” she agreed with a good-natured smirk. Clicking her tongue, she pushed her black mare into a canter that the two quickly copied, and they made steady pace through the evening until the darkness became too oppressive and it was time to call it a night. They weren’t fully out of the mountains here, and it wasn’t safe to push on when they couldn’t see 3 feet from their faces. 

They broke off from the trail until they found a small clearing in a wooded area with a creek. There, they set up their sleeping rolls and took turns washing up, then Sansa set to making a fire as Rowan left to hunt for their dinner. Before long, they’d had a meal of cooked rabbit and while Lovenna and Rowan settled down to sleep, Sansa sat down by a tree a little way from the camp for the first watch. 

Sword by her side in the grass, she sat cross legged and laid out the map that one of the stewards had got her. They were about a half days ride from the Kingsroad, and then it would take the best part of a week to make it Castle Black at the Wall. Her fingers traced the road as it snaked North, reminding herself of who sat at each castle along the way, who might offer them a bed for the night and which ones they should avoid at all costs. Then her fingers found Winterfell and froze. Within a matter of days, she’d be passing her childhood home without stopping, and the thought was a difficult one. 

Of course, she’d known from the start that whenever she decided to leave Lys and come back West, nothing would be simple. The family she still had were scattered, she had enemies in every direction, and her home had been in the clutches of others for years. She knew that when the Boltons had taken the castle, Rickon and Bran had supposedly already disappeared, but she didn’t hold out much hope that they were still alive. They were children, and the likelihood is they were long gone. Theon, who had been helping run the castle at the time, was also probably dead, and it was strange to mourn for someone who was not quite a brother, but had been a constant figure in her life for most of her childhood. 

Baelish had told her of the whispers that Theon had been behind the Bolton’s seizing of the castle, but she refused to believe it. She knew him, and she knew that although he had been arrogant and a little wild, he was good at heart and loved the Stark boys as if they were his blood brothers. She thought of Baelish's proposition, the idea of marrying this mysterious Ramsay Bolton. Despite her extensive studies of the Houses in her youth, and the years being exposed to the politics in King's Landing, she had never heard the name. 

Roose Bolton, she knew of though. She knew that there were also whispers that circulated about him, rumours that he had played a part in what was now known as the Red Wedding. That was a rumour she was more inclined to believe, but one she guessed that Petyr didn’t know she’d heard. Surely if he thought she knew, he would have known she would never agree to join the Boltons in any capacity.

Not that she would have agreed anyway. Her marriage to Tyrion was enough. It was unconsummated, and Tyrion had been kind to her in a way no one else had been in Kings Landing, but it had still been forced upon her. Never again would she be married because of someone else’s plotting. She sighed quietly, a pang in her chest as she thought of the Doran’s. She missed Raya and Imar so much it hurt, but she had to do this. She had to find whatever was left of her family and avenge the ones that had been taken from her. 

She folded up the map and tucked it away, leaning back against the tree as she kept watch in the glow of the campfire, thinking of wolves and snow and stone castles. 

  
  


xxx

  
  


The next few days passed without drama. They stayed clear of the Twins, diverting off the Kings Road to the Eastern woods, which tacked on extra time to their journey but stopped them from coming to the attention of the Freys. There was a large part of Sansa that fantasised about marching straight into the castle and stabbing Lord Frey through his neck for what he’d done to her family, but Rowan had managed to distract her long enough to quell her anger and let them pass the castle without incident.  They passed Moat Cailin and risked spending the night at an inn on the side of the road to escape the freezing sheets of pelting rain that rattled their bones. They set off early the next morning and slowly the surroundings began to change. The empty swampland and foreboding marshes gave way to woods, and soon enough there was a layer of frost on the ground as the temperature dropped considerably. Officially in the North now, Sansa felt a lump in her throat. 

The cold air was a welcome embrace, but the knowledge that she was close to her home turned the nostalgia sour. Rowan and Lovenna picked up on her change in disposition and fell silent for the remainder of the morning. In the early afternoon, they paused in their travels for a meal and a rest. Soon, they would be within the area of Winterfell, and they wouldn’t be able to risk stopping until they were far past it. Lovenna, who didn’t handle silence well, was talking about things that Sansa only half paid attention to as she picked at her food. 

The log beneath her was frozen enough to chill her through her leathers, but she barely felt the cold. If anything, she welcomed it. She’d been in hot, foreign places for long enough, and it was a nice change to feel cold for once. Lovenna and Rowan weren’t as thrilled, neither having lived through a winter spell, and both complained about frozen toes and fingers. They both huddled close to the small fire, leeching what warmth they could as they argued about nothing important, and Sansa still wasn’t paying attention.

Which was why the snapping of a branch right behind her had all three of them shooting from their seats in surprise. Weapons brandished, they whipped around to face a group of men that had managed to sneak up on them with embarrassing ease. 

Bow pulled taut, arrow fixed on the man at the centre, Sansa took a second to glance across the group. There must have been about 15 of them, all of varying statures and wearing a mismatch of clothing. None bore sigils or anything to suggest an allegiance to a House, and it was likely they were a bunch of criminals that prowled the Kingsroad looking for targets.

She could see why they may have picked their group as prey. One man and two women, and none of them looked imposing. Lovenna’s muscles were lost under the heavy winter clothes, and her shortness always made her look much less threatening than she was. Rowan was thick and muscular, but he also had long hair and a pretty face, as did Sansa. They were all used to being underestimated. 

“We don’t want any trouble. Move along,” Sansa broke the silence in a calm, steady voice, arrow still pointed at the apparent leader as the stand off continued. 

The man had ratty brown hair and a wide grin that showed off decaying teeth, but despite that he had the stance of a trained soldier and a sword that was definitely good quality steel. Either it was stolen, or, he wasn’t just a commoner, but a House deserter. That could be a problem. They were greatly outnumbered, and their chance of winning in a fight dropped significantly if these men were actual warriors. She grit her teeth and tried not to show her worry as the man laughed, slow and deep and surprisingly chipper. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands, girl.”

“Didn’t you hear her? Fuck off, bastards!” Lovenna yelled from behind Sansa, and the smile on the stranger’s face dropped.

“Not polite to speak to strangers like that. Didn’t your ma teach you manners?” 

“It’s also impolite to sneak up on people, but I guess you weren’t taught manners either,” Rowan replied with snark, and out of the corner of her eye Sansa could see him take a slow step forward so he was at her side. 

The movement caused the main man to raise his sword a little further, calculating eyes drifting across the three of them, weighing up the threat as she had done. 

“We don’t have anything valuable,” Sansa tried to diffuse the tension, but her bow never lowered. “We’re just travellers, find some higher borns to rob if you want to make it worth your time.”

“Pretty nice horses you got for low-born travellers,” chimed in one of the thieves. The saddles and bridles were dirty from travel, but they were also well made and decorated, and Sansa cursed Baelish for his expensive taste. 

Luckily, Rowan was a quick thinker and a good liar. “You’re not the only thieves in the world, y’know.”

The strangers seemed unsure, but stayed silent as they waited for their leader to make his decision. 

The grizzled man hummed theatrically, before shrugging and smiling. “Either way, we’re still going to kill you.”

He’d barely finished speaking before he lunged forward, narrowly dodging Sansa’s arrow as the fight broke out. Taking his split second of distraction, Sansa dropped her bow and tugged out the dagger from its sheath. A bow had no place in a brawl, and sure enough the clanging of metal on metal rang through the woods as the two groups fought.  The leader had set his sights on Rowan, the others converging on Sansa and Lovenna until they were separated and surrounded. Sansa’s main advantage was that they didn’t expect her to play dirty, a point quickly disproved as she stuck her dagger straight into the eye of one of the men. Without hesitation, she swung around and ducked beneath a blade to thrust the knife into the shoulder of another. 

A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her side and lifting her from the ground and the realisation that they weren’t trying to kill her just yet made her blood run cold. They had other plans for her and Lovenna, and Sansa wasn’t about to let that happen. Leaning back into the man, she simultaneously kicked an approaching man in the chest with both feet and smashed her head into the chin of the one holding her. His grip slackened as he reared back, blood spurting from his mouth, and she let herself go heavy so she could slip from his grip and drop to the ground to roll to the side. 

As she jumped back onto her feet, no weapon in hand, the thundering of approaching hooves sounded out. As a boot hit her hard in the stomach, she stumbled back and looked up just in time to see the man’s head sliced cleanly from his body. It rolled onto the floor with a thump as Sansa stared agape, the rider pushing through the group of men to stab one of the robbers fighting Lovenna in the back. Another man on horseback trampled over the body, slashing at another's chest as he passed. 

There was no time to question who the strangers were as she still had three men around her, so she ducked to retrieve a stolen sword from one of the fallen men and raised it above her head to block the incoming swing. The swords locked in the air, and she kicked at the mans knee to throw him off balance, his sword slipping enough to let her break the lock and stab him through the chest. Breath heavy, she turned to the left to block a hit from a staff aimed at her head, but the blow never came as the man staggered forward, head caved in. Hot blood splattered onto her face, and the shock overcame the disgust as she took a step back. As he collapsed to his knees and then on to the floor, a young, heavy set man pulled a giant hammer from the corpse with a squelch.

The two made eye contact, her mouth still open in shock, and he bowed his head. “My Lady.”

Before he could say anything more, he had strode past her to swap blows with a robber, and she blinked away the surprise - and blood - and ran to stuck the blade of her stolen sword through the man currently trying his best to kill Lovenna. 

“Alright?” Lovenna called, eyeing the blood on Sansa’s face warily. 

Too out of breath to speak, Sansa nodded and continued to fight. Before long, the final robber fell dead to the ground, and the clearing was silent apart from the panting of the group left standing. 

Sword still in hand, Sansa took a step back to be at Lovenna’s side as she finally got a look at the other two strangers. Another young man with messy brown hair and red leather armor was dismounting his horse, but it was the other figure that took her attention. The woman was tall and imposing, her cropped hair and stern face taking Sansa aback. The woman wore Southern armour, and Sansa tried not to panic at the idea that maybe these weren’t simply kind strangers passing by at the right time. No, the other man had called her Lady. They knew who she was. 

Sansa swallowed, and Lovenna seemed to pick up on the woman’s hesitation. She turned to the strangers, sword tip pointing in their general direction.

“Who are you?”

The man with the hammer snorted, glaring slightly. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thanks for saving our lives.’”

“You’re right, thank you,” Rowan jumped in before Sansa could, wiping blood off his sword. “Who are you?”

The man was frowning, but the woman cut him off with a raised hand, stepping towards Sansa. Her eyes didn’t leave Sansa, but her hands rose in placation as Lovenna stepped forwards with her sword still pointed up. 

“It’s ok, Lovenna, let her talk,” Sansa prompted, resting her free hand on Lovenna’s arm gently until the woman reluctantly lowered the weapon. The redhead then turned back to the blonde. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Yes, Lady Sansa, we know,” she agreed. “We stopped at an inn and overheard some men talking about a redhead girl who looked to be of Tully blood, and when we asked, one of them said they overheard you mention Castle Black.”

Sansa nodded slowly, licking her lips. “Ok, now answer the other question.”

She took another step forward, and sank to one knee. “I’m Lady Brienne of Tarth, I was your mother’s sworn sword before her death, and I swore an oath to her that I would find her daughters and protect them with my life. I am here to honour that oath.”

Sansa’s head reeled at the revelation, at the weight those calmly spoken words carried. 

“You-, you-” She stopped, taking a breath to steady her words. “You were with my mother. You were at the wedding?”

“No, My Lady, I wasn’t. Your mother held Jaime Lannister as a captive, and she sent me South with him to barter with the Lannisters for your release. I was in Kings Landing by the time I heard the news. I regret every day that I wasn’t there to protect her, I swear it.”

Her words were sincere, and though Sansa had no proof that what Brienne spoke was true, she couldn’t help but trust her. Something about her was so open, so passionate, that Sansa couldn’t bring herself to doubt the words. She looked past the woman to the men, and now that she had a clear look at his face, she realised something.

“Podrick?”

The squire smiled kindly, nodding his head in greeting. “I’m glad to see you alive and well, Lady Sansa.”

She hadn’t seen Tyrion’s squire in years, and he had certainly changed in that time, but his smile was the same. She hadn’t interacted with him all that much in Kings Landing, but he had always been nice to her, and Tyrion had highly praised him for his loyalty and earnestness. 

“You too, Podrick,” she smiled back shakily, then turned to the other man. “And you are?”

“Gendry, My Lady, just Gendry.” She raised a brow without thinking and he smirked. “I’m just a blacksmith. I knew your sister, and I intend on finding her again. That’s why I’m here.”

Nodding, Sansa turned back to Brienne, who was still kneeling before her.

“I realise it’s a lot to take in, My Lady, and you have no reason to trust me, but when I make an oath, I stick to it. We came North looking for your sister but we had no luck. Now, I swear to you as your mother wanted. I will shield your back, and keep your council, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it, by the Old Gods, and the New.”

Rowan and Lovenna were watching Sansa closely as she thought for a moment. With a steadying breath, she stood right in front of Brienne, toes almost brushing Brienne’s sword she'd laid in the snow.

“And I vow, that you should always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table, and I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise, Lady Brienne.” 

Brienne immediately obeyed, collecting her sword and standing tall. The woman had tears in her eyes that she refused to let leak, and Sansa knew then that every word she had spoken about her mother was irrefutably true. 

“You should know, though, I currently don’t have a hearth,” Sansa joked lightly, and the mood of the group shifted as Brienne smiled. 

“Or a table,” Rowan offered. “Or meat or mead.” 

“That’s fine, neither do we,” Gendry replied with a smirk.

Brienne shook her head and looked back to Sansa. “I assume you’re heading to the Wall to see your brother?” Sansa nodded, and Brienne sheathed her sword. “Good. Come on then, we should get moving.” She strode off to mount her horse, and the rest of the group quickly jumped into action.

Brienne had an authoritative air about her, and everyone followed her lead without complaint. They collected their stuff, mounted their horses, and went on their way. It was nice to have new companions, and Sansa spent the first day of travelling at the front by Brienne’s side, asking a million and one questions. Brienne was happy to oblige, and Sansa learnt a lot about what had happened in her brother’s camp while Brienne was there, as well as what had happened in the years she’d been gone that Baelish had neglected to tell her. 

She learnt more of the Lannisters and their dwindling numbers, a flicker of grief around her heart as she heard of Tommen and Margaery’s respective tragic endings. She learnt of the state of the Iron Islands, now under the control of Theon’s uncle Euron, and of Dorne that was currently in shambles after the death of the last Martell. Brienne even mentioned there had been talk of a new self-proclaimed Queen, and that many were sure it was only a matter of time before she left Essos and came to Westeros. 

That one, Sansa knew of. 

Daenerys Targeryen had never been to Lys, but many travellers who passed through spoke of the woman with white hair and dragons and a dead Dothraki husband. It was information she had filed away in the back of her brain, a matter that she figured might become a problem one day. For now, she couldn't care less. 

When they’d long passed Winterfell and were at their last nightly stop before reaching the wall, Sansa finally saw an opportunity she had been waiting for. As Gendry sat alone by the fire for his shift on watch, having convinced Lovenna to go to sleep when she could barely keep her eyes open, Sansa left her sleeping roll and sat at the other end of the log from him. 

“How did you know Arya?”

He didn’t react to the question, and Sansa figured he’d probably been waiting for her to ask it since they’d teamed up. She’d decided within the first hour of meeting him that she liked Gendry. He was honest in a different way from Brienne. Whereas she was sincere and open, he was blunt and unafraid to speak his mind, a factor that Sansa found highly amusing as him and Rowan quickly fell into a brotherly dynamic, constantly poking fun at one another and picking fights over the smallest of things.  He was charming, and friendly, and Sansa was curious as to how he fit into Arya's life. 

“I was sold as a recruit for the Night’s Watch, and when I was shoved in with the other lads I met Arya. Only, she was pretending to be a boy named ‘Arry then. We were captured by Lannister men on the road, taken to Harrenhal to work at Tywin’s orders. We escaped, and joined the Brotherhood without Banners, then they sold me to Stannis and the witch and I haven’t seen her since.”

She knew about his past with Melissandre and the secret of his lineage, but she hadn’t known about how he came to be the Baratheon's captive.

She mulled over his words for a moment before speaking quietly. “Was she ok?”

He huffed a soft laugh, wistful smile and all as he watched the fire. “She was a mouthy little shit.”

That startled a laugh out of Sansa, and she clapped a hand to her lips as they both froze, waiting to see if anyone had woken up, but the figures were still. 

“She was my best friend,” he confessed with more sincerity. “She was a good fighter and all. Smart, even if she did have a habit of getting herself into trouble. She’s alive out there, I know it.”

They shared a smile, and then looked away. There was more Sansa wanted to ask. She wanted to know if friendship was all they’d had, or if his obvious feelings for her sister was something he’d hidden from her. Arya had never been interested in anything romantic, but that was, what, 5 years ago? Sansa had barely known her sister even in Winterfell, and that was the sad reality. She’d never made much of an effort with Arya, who she ‘didn’t get’, or Jon, who her mother successfully poisoned her against. Now those two were the only family she had left.

The thought had crossed her mind that maybe they wouldn’t want to see her. That maybe they’d been unbothered by the fact that she’d disappeared into thin air, and would be nothing more than mildly surprised by her reappearance. Sansa didn’t let herself entertain these thoughts, because as much as she had grown and become independent, she still craved for her family with every beat of her heart. 

She was a wolf, and she needed her pack. 

It was too late though, the doubts had crept out from the shadows of her mind, and they’d linger there for a while yet. So, she turned back to Gendry and told him she’d start her watch early. Maybe it was the look on her face, or maybe he was just that tired, but either way he didn’t argue. He bid her goodnight and tucked himself into his bed roll, asleep within minutes. 

She agreed with him when he said Arya was still alive. She had always been a fighter, scrappy and bold and unafraid, and she had absolute faith the girl was out there somewhere with her Needle, striking down anyone who came too close. One day, they’d be reunited. 

And on that day, Sansa would hold her little sister close and apologise for every horrible thing the old her had done. 

  
  


xxx

  
  


It was mid-afternoon when Castle Black came into view. The Wall, of course, had been on the horizon for miles, looming above anything in the vicinity. It was impressively foreboding, and something Sansa hadn’t ever expected to see. Another gust of wind blew through her and made her shiver, and she pressed her horse into a trot as trepidation grew strong within her. It was freezing this far North, but she was much less bothered than the others, all of whom were Southern born.  They’d been forced to stop and swap horses at the last village they'd passed, the ones from the Eyrie unable to pick their way through snow drifts in the way Northern horses could. These ones moved with ease, and they’d made good time through the last stretch of their journey.

Now, so close to seeing her brother, Sansa was a jumble of excitement and nerves. The rest of her group had fallen behind her, talking quietly among themselves as they left her to her thoughts. She didn’t know what to say to Jon. Maybe she should start with apologising for being a brat. 

Scouts atop the wall saw them coming, the only blemish on the empty road that was flanked by fields of white, and the gates were already open by the time they got there. Hooves clattered on the stone as they entered the courtyard and stopped before a bearded man, his face weather-beaten and tired, but smiling. 

“Lady Sansa, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Edd Tollett, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” he greeted, nodding his head in respect. Faces peered at the group from all around the courtyard, but after a quick scan showed no familiar faces, Sansa dismounted and turned to the man with a confused smile.

“You knew I was coming?”

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet slightly in awkwardness. “You should come inside, My Lady. There’s someone you should see.”

Companions close behind, she followed the man eagerly up the steps and to the heavy double doors at the end of the walkway. He opened the door and held it open, nodding his head as a gesture to enter. The excited smile on her face dropped as she walked into the room, quickly realising neither of the two occupants sat by the fire were Jon.

The door closed behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to realise the others were no longer with her. Confused, and a little wary, she looked back to the figures by the fire to see that they were both now looking at her. 

Her mouth dropped in total shock, breath trapped in her chest and she blinked wildly.

“Bran?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, ok! So! Basically, I had a vague idea of where this story was going, and no idea of where Gold in Our Veins was going, so I sat down and wrote an entire detailed plot for Gold, then for this, and then realised I was writing two very similar stories and so I had to totally scrap and rewrite my plan for this. 
> 
> But the good news is I now have lengthy plans for both stories, and so writing should be a little easier. I'm also very excited about some of my ideas, so I feel very inspired to write, and as it's lockdown I have nothing else to do anyway. 
> 
> So here you go, hope you enjoyed, and as always, I greatly appreciate every single read, comment, kudos and bookmark so thank you!
> 
> (Also - for the most part, any storyline that didn't involve Sansa in-between the Purple Wedding and the beginning of Season 6 was pretty much canon unless stated otherwise. For example, in this story Theon didn't 'kill' Bran and Rickon, he helped rule the castle by Bran's side and was then taken prisoner when the Bolton's took Winterfell, so I mentioned that in this chapter. If there's any confusion, please feel free to ask, but to be honest it shouldn't really matter as from here on out canon is basically out the window anyway)


	4. tracks in the snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they spend a long time riding horses and things get set in motion 
> 
> (also this chapter is like 10,000 words so strap in)

Sansa smiled in delirious relief, a surprised laugh slipping from her lips as she ran forward to throw her arms around the boy before her. He didn’t hug her back, but he squeezed her hand once when she pulled away to gape at him. 

“You’re alive. I can’t believe it.”

“It’s not my time yet,” he replied in an expressionless tone that made her blink. With concern, she looked him over with a slow gaze, taking in every feature. She was so engrossed she barely registered the other figure moving until she heard the door shut in the background. He looked so different. He was so much older, having crossed the border between boy and man since they’d last seen one another, and it was hard to match up the Bran in her head with the one sat before her. 

She had so many questions to ask him, but she started with an easy one. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s where I needed to be.” 

Another confused blink as she faltered. “Bran, are you ok?”

He didn’t answer, eyes focused on the flames rather than her. She couldn’t help the slight unease that tickled the back of her neck, but this was Bran, her little brother. It’s not as if he’d hurt her. So swallowing her wariness, she pushed out a smile.

“So, where have you been? I thought you were dead, Bran, how did you survive?”

“The answer to that is a long one.”

“I still want to hear it.”

He looked up, face still blank. “I’m no longer just ‘Bran’. I’m the Three Eyed Raven.”

“Ok,” she said slowly after a beat, settling into the vacant stool opposite him. “I guess we have a lot to catch up on.”

  
  


xxx

  
  


An hour later, Sansa was feeling exhausted after the influx of information. Learning of her brother’s journey, his new identity, she didn’t know what to think. Not that it would matter, as this new Bran likely didn't care what she thought. This expressionless shell of a young man was not her playful, carefree little brother. Then again, that boy had died when he fell from the tower and his legs had been broken beyond repair. The Three Eyed Raven must have taken any spark that had been left.  It was strange, speaking to him. It was like having a conversation with a stranger that bore the face of her sibling, and it set her teeth on edge. Yet, it was still Bran. The brother she believed to be dead was alive, and so she could handle the weirdness and the sombreness, because at least he was here. 

Even if it wasn’t the brother she’d been expecting to find up here at the edge of the world. 

Leaving him to his ‘meditation’, Sansa slipped out of the room and back on to the wooden catwalk to find Lovenna and Brienne stood outside the door. They both turned to her as she appeared, but it was Lovenna who spoke up.

“Everything alright, Lady?”

Still feeling a little blindsided, Sansa shrugged. “He’s alive, and he’s safe, that’s good enough for me. Even if he is different.”

“Yeah, Meera explained the whole Raven thing. Sounds like a little more than him being ‘different’.”

“Meera?”

“Reed,” Brienne explained quickly. “Daughter of Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. Apparently they’ve been travelling together for some time.”

Recalling him mentioning the girl, although not by name, Sansa nodded in understanding. “Where is everyone?”

“The Common Room, there’s stew and ale waiting for you, My Lady,” answered Brienne, gesturing for Sansa to follow her down the walkway. The blonde led the way to a large room full of long tables and benches, fires crackling in the hearths at either end of the room. The boys were gathered around a table close to one of the fires, laughing boisterously as they drank. It was nice to see them getting along so well. Yet she couldn’t join them, not yet. She still had a very important question to ask. 

She turned back to the women. “Do either of you know where the Lord Commander is?”

“He said he’d be in his quarters if we needed him.”

“I need to speak with him, I’ll join you all in a bit.” 

She began to walk for the door, but a gloved hand stopped her gently. “My Lady, I must insist I accompany you. This place is full of strange men, criminals at that. You cannot wander around by yourself. Let us join you.”

She was right, and so Sansa didn't bother to argue. “Ok, thank you, Brienne.” She turned to Lovenna, noting the tiredness in the woman’s eyes and the sideways glance she gave the boys that she probably didn’t realise Sansa caught. “Lovenna, stay here. Eat something.”

“San-”

“I’ll be fine, Brienne will keep me safe.”

The dark haired girl looked from her to Brienne, then nodded and collapsed heavily onto the bench by Rowan, snagging the ale from his hand and gulping it down despite the loud protests.

Shaking her head in amusement, Sansa led the way from the room, following the directions offered by a passing Night’s Watch member to the barracks where she knocked firmly on Edd’s door. He answered after a few seconds, somehow even more exhausted looking than he had appeared an hour ago. He stood back and invited her in, Brienne hovering in the doorway with her imposing air as Sansa sat on the offered chair by a rickety table strewn with papers. 

“Lady Stark, how can I help you?”

“Where’s Jon?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. 

He leaned back in his chair, tapping fingers on the desk in a steady rhythm. “Your brother didn’t explain?”

“No, with everything else he had to say I forgot to ask.”

He smiled in understanding. “It’s quite a story he has.”

“It is,” she replied lightly, but there was a stone in her stomach and a grip on her heart as she began to consider that maybe he was avoiding her question. “Is Jon dead?”

“No, no, he’s alive and well, as far as I know,” Edd quickly reassured, his fingers dropping from their tapping. “But he isn’t here. He left almost a week ago with some men, trying to drum up support for his cause.”

“His cause?” she asked with a furrowed brow. “He’s trying to take back Winterfell?”

Edd hesitated. “Among other things, yes. He wanted to start making allies with Northern houses, hoping to get some help finding Arya. There’s been talk your sister’s in the North somewhere.”

“So he left? Not to be rude, but I thought he was Lord Commander - why did he pass that title to you and leave his post?”

“Well, that’s the thing. There was an incident, involving your brother, and I don’t understand it myself so I don’t really know how to explain it, but I’ll try.” He took a second to choose his words, and leant forward in his seat. “There was a mutiny, after Jon was elected Lord Commander. Some of the men...they-well, they killed him. Stabbed him to death. Then the Red Woman, she brought him back to life. I don’t know how, I just know that one minute he was lying on a table without a pulse and then the next he was walkin' and talkin'.”

Her mouth was hanging open, unable to find the words through the shock. 

“He-he came back to life?”

Edd nodded. “He executed the men that ambushed him, then passed on the mantle of Lord Commander to me. He was adamant he couldn’t stay here.” He watched her, looking as if he was deciding whether or not he should share the rest.

“Tell me,” she insisted without hesitation. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

“It’s better if I show you.”

With those ominous words, he stood from behind the desk and led Sansa and Brienne from the room, down the stairs and across the courtyard. In the back corner were what Sansa assumed had once been kennels, back when it hadn’t been too far below freezing for dogs to survive this far North. She watched closely as he unlocked the gate, worry growing when he unsheathed his sword.  Brienne instantly mirrored his actions, pulling her sword out in the same motion as she stepped forward to form a barrier between Sansa and the man. He barely seemed to notice, eyes fixed on the cage in the far corner. Accepting that the threat wasn’t Edd, but something else unknown, Brienne turned her sword and attention to the cage, Sansa resting her hand on her dagger behind her. 

Edd lifted a hand to bring them to a stop, then crept forward with silent steps. He was halfway across the room when he gestured to them to join him, which they did so with equally careful steps. Then, he ducked down and picked a small stone from the floor, tossing it up and catching it in his hand as if to test the weight.  He licked his lips in a nervous move, then threw the stone across the kennels so it clattered against the bars of the far cage. The screech was instantaneous, deafening in the enclosed space and sending a shiver down Sansa’s spine. The being that flung itself against the bars was a whole other level of blood-curdling. A skeleton with rotted skin and dead eyes had its one arm through the bars of the cage, clawing at the empty air as it continually screeched. 

Her heart was thumping against her chest so hard she could barely breathe, her feet taking an involuntary step back. Brienne looked just as horrified, sword slack in her grasp as she stared unblinkingly at the things' skeletal fingers. The two women shared a look before turning back to the thing. 

“What the fuck is that?” Sansa demanded, any sense of decorum long gone in the face of this monster. 

“A wight,” Edd replied gravely over the noise, nodding his head towards the gate. Brienne and Sansa backed slowly out of the room, Edd following without taking his eyes off the creature. He wasted no time in locking the gate behind them and taking them back through the armory and stables to the quiet courtyard, where he finally stopped to look at them. 

“Jon brought it back with him from beyond the Wall, along with the Wildlings. It’s a corpse, some sorry bastard that died out there and was brought back to life by the Night King and his White Walkers. That’s why Jon left, to gather support for when the Night King and his Army of the Dead come South of the Wall and begin their mission of eradicating humans from the world.”

Facing the third or fourth major revelation in the last couple of hours, Sansa didn't even know what to say anymore. She’d heard of White Walkers and the Night King before, as had every child born in the North. It was a legend, one of Old Nan’s stories that would have Bran and Arya hanging off her every word as they sat by her feet at the fire and Sansa practised her sewing. She wished now she’d paid more attention. 

“They’re coming South? Now?”

“It should take them a while to cross the land beyond the Wall, but yes, eventually they will come. Jon figures it’s a good idea to get started on the preparations now - after all, most people think it’s the stuff of bedtime stories, and anyone South of Riverrun likely has never even heard of them.”

She rubbed at her temple and the growing headache with numb fingers. “That’s why you have one here. To use as proof?”

“It’s a lot more effective than telling people. You tell them there’s an army of frozen skeletons heading their way and they think you’ve gone mad, but show them that? Chills you to the bone, don’t it?”

“Certainly unsettling,” Brienne muttered, eyes drifting back the way they’d come from as if waiting for it to appear screeching across the courtyard. 

“You mentioned Wildlings?”

“Jon recruited a band of Free Folk to the fight against the undead, won their loyalty beyond the Wall - but that’s his story, not mine. Anyway, they went with Jon.”

“So he has an army?”

“A few thousand, not all of them fighters.”

She pondered this strange alliance for a moment, then sighed quietly. “Thank you for being so candid, Lord Commander,” she spoke, diverting the conversation and remembering her manners. “You’ve been very helpful. I know it’s a lot to ask, but is it possible for me and my companions to stay here for a few days? Just while we figure out where to go next.”

“Of course,” he reassured easily with a smile. “You’re welcome here as long as you need, Lady Stark.”

He excused himself after that, leaving Brienne and Sansa in the silent courtyard. The older woman watched her as she chewed her lip in thought, calling her name twice before Sansa looked up with a blink.

“Sorry, Brienne, I’m fine. Let’s go eat.”

xxx

Many hours later, with a full stomach and a slight buzz in her veins from the strong ale, Sansa was taken to the room she would be sharing with Lovenna and Brienne. The room was quiet, Lovenna still drinking with Podrick in some sort of contest that the men of the Night’s Watch found highly entertaining and Brienne off washing up before turning in for the night. It was nice to have a moment of peace, sat on the edge of her bed and thinking through the events of the day. 

She had learned so much, and yet she had never felt more confused. 

True to her bad luck, the solitude was almost immediately interrupted by a knock on the door. The groan slipped from her lips before she could stop it, and she clapped a hand to her mouth and hoped whoever it was hadn’t heard it. 

“Who is it?” she called.

“It’s Meera Reed, My Lady.”

Sansa sat up quickly, surprised yet again. Assuming that it probably had something to do with the one connection they shared - Bran - she stood and opened the door with a polite smile on her face. The girl before her was a little younger, with a mane of brown curls and a hard face that reminded her of Arya. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Reed,” greeted Sansa, nodding her head a little. 

“Likewise, My Lady, but please, it’s just Meera.”

“Of course, Meera. You don’t have to call me Lady either, I haven’t been a Lady since I left King’s Landing. How can I help you?”

“Bran wanted me to give you something. Well, what he actually said is that it already belongs to you, the two of you just hadn’t found each other yet, but that’s just him.”

Sansa raised a brow. “Give me what?”

Before Meera could answer, she buckled slightly and caught herself with a hand on the doorframe as something shoved its way past her legs. The blur then leapt up at Sansa, front paws on her thighs and tail wagging. A wolf pup, russett in colour with curious eyes let out a short bark as it bounced a little on its back legs. 

Sansa couldn’t believe it. A direwolf, alive and here in front of her. She sank to her knees with a hand on the pup’s head, but as soon as she was short enough for the wolf to reach it was licking at her face and jumping on her till she laughed. It barked again, and she collected the wriggling thing in her arms and stood with a wide grin to see Meera watching with a small smile of satisfaction. 

“How? Where?” 

“North of the Wall. She was the only one of her litter we found alive. Bran took one look at her and insisted she was yours,” Meera revealed, stroking a hand over the pup’s ear as Sansa ran her hand down its back. She then began to struggle in Sansa's grasp until she let her jump to the ground where she circled the room, sniffing at everything she came across. 

“She’s mine?”

“She’s yours. Bran says you’ll need her, in the years to come."

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered, eyes glued to the direwolf. 

Meera shrugged. “I didn’t do anything, but I’ll pass it on to Bran.”

“Thank you for that as well,” Sansa cut in before Meera could walk away, finally looking back at the younger girl. “Thank you for protecting Bran, keeping him safe. Even given what he is now, it’s nice to know he had somewhere there with him throughout it all.”

Meera smiled, uncomfortable with the praise as evidenced by her red cheeks, and waved off the thanks yet again before bidding Sansa goodnight and disappearing down the walkway. Giddy grin on her face, Sansa turned back to her new companion that was currently head first in her boots. 

“Now, what should I name you?”

xxx

To say the wolf puppy was an instant hit would be an understatement. Brienne had returned, greeted Sansa, and walked across the room to her bed before doing a double take. When Lovenna had stumbled in drunk, she had cooed over the puppy in the same way Sansa remembered her mother’s maids had cooed over baby Rickon, and it was a hilarious thing to see from someone like Lovenna. The boys the next morning had been interested, although with significantly less gushing, and the puppy seemed to begrudgingly accept the attention after recognising Sansa’s ease around them. 

She had also gone to see Bran again to talk more about their individual journeys and thanked him in person only to receive the cryptid messages Meera had already relayed. 

It was hard to believe that she had a real direwolf dozing against her ankle as she sat at the table with her companions, pouring over a map of the North as they discussed where to go next. After Lady, she hadn’t expected to ever see a direwolf again. Just the thought of her precious Lady made her heart clench, the familiar hatred for the Baratheons and Lannisters flaring in her chest. Despite the bittersweet memories, it was nice to have a symbol of her family’s sigil back with her. The reminder that she was a Stark was a welcomed one.

She wasn’t a Lannister, not since Baelish had pulled some strings and had her unconsummated marriage to Tyrion annulled. She wasn’t a foster child of the Doran’s, a stranger in a foreign land. She was a Stark, back in her family’s homeland, reuniting with her pack to take back their home.  She felt good. 

She still had yet to think of a name though, nothing seeming right so far. 

The puppy yawned at her feet, and she tuned back into the conversation without her smile fading. 

“If we work through the Stark vassal houses, we can accomplish two things at once - recruit them back into the Stark name to oppose the Bolton’s, while also asking around to see if anyone’s seen or heard anything of Arya or Jon.”

Sansa nodded at Brienne’s proposition, eyes tracing the mapped castles. “Going between the castles will also take us all over the North. We could feasibly find either of my siblings along the way.”

“Makes more sense than wandering around without a plan,” Rowan shrugged, apparently paying attention despite the fact that he was playing with a knife in a way that made Sansa worry for his fingers. “Where do we start?”

She looked back at the map, reading the names and remembering who was the current head of each house and where their loyalties supposedly lay. After a few minutes, she tapped a name with her finger. “Here. Deepwood Motte, the castle of House Glover. They’ve been sworn vassals of House Stark for centuries, and they’re one of the few houses who haven’t openly declared allegiance with House Bolton. We start there, then go to Bear Island to see the Mormonts.” 

“When do we leave?”

Sansa drummed the table a few times in thought. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll talk to the Lord Commander about supplies before supper."

Rowan smirked, catching his knife in the air as he ceased his dangerous juggling. “And so the adventure continues.”

xxx

She had been unsure as to whether or not Bran would agree to accompany them or not, but she was still disappointed when he declined. His possessions were packed already when Sansa had gone to visit him after breakfast, Meera excusing herself as she went to ready a horse. 

They were headed to the Citadel to retrieve something of great importance. That was all he offered her, along with the insistence that he would return before the Long Night came. Then with the final advice that she stick to the Kingsroad until they’d passed Long Lake, he left without a goodbye. Sansa stood there alone and in silence for several long minutes, watching the space the man who claimed to be her brother had occupied until a tail slapped against her shins and she was reminded that she had tasks to attend to. 

The next morning, when the golden rays of sunrise glinted off the ice like diamonds, Sansa and her companions bid their farewells to Edd and his men, packed up their horses, and set off for Deepwood Motte. It wasn’t a long ride, a few days at most if they travelled at a steady pace down the Kingsroad and skirted around the edge of the Wolfswood rather than going through it. The possibility of Bolton scouts on the road North of Winterfell had occurred to Sansa, but she was simply hoping that they’d be just beyond the area of patrols. Still, they proceeded South with caution till they reached the tip of Long Lake and set up camp for the first night. 

As Sansa mended the rip in one of Podrick’s shirts in the gentle glow of the fire, she thought on her brothers words. He’d stressed the importance of sticking to the road along the lake rather than taking the shortcut through the bases of the mountains, but hadn’t given any indication as to why. The shortcut would only save them a handful of hours, and so it was a diversion she didn’t argue with, but it was still strange. 

When they set off again, the wide lake shimmering to their left, she couldn’t stop thinking about what was waiting for them at the end point. She was hyperaware, eyes on stalks and turning in her saddle every few steps to the mild irritation of Lovenna who said it was making her paranoid. Of course, there was the possibility that it wasn’t something they would find taking this road, but rather something they were avoiding on the other path. Maybe Bran knew of something waiting by the mountains, killers or Boltons or dangerous creatures. 

It was mid afternoon when the road began to drift away from the lake and into the forest, the water partially obscured by the trees, and Sansa’s spine was painfully straight. The distance between them and the lake increased as the road diverted fully into the forest, and they were coming up to the point where they would break off from the road to head West when they found what they’d been waiting for. Brienne and Podrick were at the head of their procession, Rowan and Lovenna squabbling behind them as Sansa and Gendry brought up the rear and discussed his work - he was teaching her about weapons - when Brienne tugged her horse to a sudden stop. 

Instantly, everyone else came to a halt and fell silent, hands drifting to weapons as they looked for whatever had caused Brienne to stop. At first, there was nothing, then Sansa made out the distant sounds of snapping twigs and footsteps from the trees. Rowan slipped from his horse and took a few quiet steps towards the treeline, Gendry not far behind. Lovenna tugged her horse back to stand level with Sansa, the girls sharing a look as Sansa pulled the bow from her back and nocked an arrow. The bag attached to her saddle began to move, the wolf pup's face appearing beneath the flap as she growled lowly. 

After a few seconds of waiting, the noises paused. The group shifted, adjusting their stances and readying themselves for a fight when the noises started anew, approaching them slowly. 

“We’re not here to fight you,” called a voice from the trees, and three men appeared from the treeline. The one at the front had his hands raised, the two behind him looking slightly more wary but also non-combatant. 

“Then what are you here for?” Brienne demanded in a clipped tone, glaring down her nose at the men clad in bashed, dirty armour. 

The front man, an elder man with wild white hair and only one ear, replied in the same pacifying tone he’d used before. “One of our scouts spotted you across the lake, and our leader sent us here to retrieve you. She wishes to speak with the Stark girl.” 

The man looked to Sansa, stance remaining casual despite all the weapons still pointed towards him. 

Suspicious, but curious as ever, Sansa pushed her horse forward to stand between Brienne and Gendry, arrow still at the ready but pointed down to the ground rather than at him. From this distance, she noticed a new detail that was certainly a surprise. On the men’s breastplates was the sigil of House Greyjoy, a kraken standing bold against the worn metal. 

“I was told Euron rules the Iron Islands these days,” she spoke slowly, distrust clear in her tone. She didn’t know much about Theon’s uncle, only that he had murdered his brother and taken the Salt Throne for himself according to Baelish. 

“He does. Not everyone agrees with that declaration.”

“So who is ‘she’, and what does she want with me?”

“Yara Greyjoy, our chosen queen. She wishes to speak with you about reclaiming your home,” he explained vaguely, eyes still glued to Sansa’s own despite her vaguely threatening friends. 

It was definitely suspicious. Not only was it strange that Yara, who she had never met, wanted to speak with her about Winterfell, but also that Ironborn were this far North. Still, Bran had implored her to travel this way. He knew they would find her, so they must not be a threat, surely? She may not recognise this new Bran, but she still trusted him to not lead her blindly into danger. Mind made up, she caught Brienne’s questioning gaze and gave a small nod, then turned back to the Ironborn with a blank face. 

“We’ll speak with your queen, but we’ll not follow you into a base with your many men. We will wait here, and your queen will come to us.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and the man sucked in a breath before reluctantly bowing his head. “Our camp is close, we will go retrieve her now and bring her here. We will be back within the hour.”

Not known for their manners, the Ironborn turned and walked back into the trees with no further ceremony, and Sansa’s group slowly deflated and turned to one another when the crunching of leaves faded back into silence. 

“Are we waiting, or are we running?” Podrick broke the quiet. 

“Waiting. I need to know what she wants, and what she’s doing here.”

Brienne frowned. “It might be a trap, My Lady, are you certain it’s a good idea to stick around?”

“We passed a hill not long ago, we can keep watch from there. If they return with too many men, we leave. Quickly.”

The others nodded, settling back into their horses and following as she turned to trot in her chosen direction. Brienne appeared at her elbow, face still showing displeasure, though she was trying hard to keep it neutral. “Are you sure about this, Lady Sansa?”

She smiled at the older woman. “No, but there’s a reason Bran sent us this way. I can’t ignore this.”

Brienne exhaled sharply through her nose and fell quiet, begrudgingly accepting. No matter how bad she thought the idea was, she wasn’t about to directly oppose the word of her Lady. So they clambered up the rather steep hill, hiding amongst the trees and watching the road below. They could just about make out a path where the men had come from, and so they watched and waited for the men to reappear. 

A while later, figures appeared in the distance. They couldn’t make out features from this distance, only that there were 5 of them and they were on foot. Still wary, but at least with the knowledge they weren’t outnumbered, the group descended the hill and crossed the road to head through the trees till they reached the banks of Long Lake where it flowed into the river. The land was clear here, and should they need to fight they wouldn’t be constrained by the trees of the forest, but they were also less exposed to possible passerbys on the road. 

They dismounted their horses but kept them close in case of a getaway, not pulling out their weapons but ready to do so at the first hint of danger. The figures were close enough now that they could make out the faces of the three men from before, as well as a new man and a woman who must have been Yara. She had never seen the woman, only heard a vague description of her once while in Kings Landing when some of the Lannister cousins had been discussing their possible marriage options. Still, she matched the description well. 

She was muscled, with a severe face and a masculine gait, and Sansa felt a weird sense of pride at the scowling woman. Lovenna was nodding in approval by Sansa’s side, eyes trailing up and down the Greyjoy with a small smirk. 

“Lovenna,” Sansa whispered in a warning tone, but the glance she shot her friend was playful.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” she protested with wide eyes and an innocent expression that melted into a wicked one as she turned back to face the Ironborn. “Not yet anyway.”

Sansa had to fight from rolling her eyes, forcing her face to remain in its cool, neutral expression. She knew that being aloof would win her more points with this woman than simpering and smiles would. 

Yara gestured for her men to stop when they were ten feet or so away, then took another step forward alone. “Lady Stark. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Sansa mirrored her steps until they were mere feet apart, ignoring the hard look from Brienne, and inclined her head. 

“It’s my pleasure, Lady Greyjoy. I have many questions to ask you.”

The brunette raised an eyebrow, watching her closely. “I’m no Lady, you don’t need to call me that.”

“You expect me to call you Queen? I won’t.”

Brienne’s eyes widened comically at Sansa’s words, Podrick gaping at the brashness. Yara, though, seemed amused, her face relaxing slightly into a smirk. 

“I don’t expect that. I’m not your queen, after all. I’m not anyone’s queen technically, not while my uncle sits on the Salt Throne.”

“Is that why you’re this far North? You fled your home to escape his rule?”

“Actually, I came to see your brother.”

That was a surprise, but Sansa didn’t let it show on her face. “My brother?”

“I knew Jon was at the Wall, and I wanted to offer my assistance in reclaiming Winterfell.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Why would you want to help with that? What’s in it for you?”

It was Yara’s turn to look confused. “Theon is a captive of the Bolton’s, he’s being held at Winterfell. You didn’t know?”

Well, that was a fact Baelish had apparently decided to keep to himself. Her nostrils flared at the thought of what else he had neglected to tell her. “No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, well, our uncle won’t help, he doesn’t give a shit about Theon. But he’s my brother, and I want him back home.”

“And if you help Jon take back Winterfell, then it would only be fair that he helped you overthrow your uncle and take back the Iron Islands,” Sansa deduced, nodding in understanding as the pieces slotted into place. 

Yara smirked again. “You’re good. Last I heard, you were shipped off to Essos for killing the Baratheon twat. What are you doing back here waltzing down the Kingsroad?”

“Same thing as you - making allies. Jon isn’t at the Wall, but he’s still in the North somewhere. I’m going to find him. I can pass on your offer of allegiance if you’d like?”

The woman considered Sansa’s words, clicking her tongue in thought as her eyes drifted to the direwolf sat by Sansa's feet. “No,” she decided after a beat, taking Sansa aback. “I came North looking for a bastard with a weak claim to the Stark name because I thought he was my best bet. But you, a trueborn Stark, and a clever woman at that? I think we make a much better pair.”

Sansa considered the woman in front of her, weighing up the proposition offered. Any allies at this point were greatly needed. Having a personal reason to push for success in the reclaiming of Winterfell was also a great addition, as it meant Yara had reason to stay dedicated to the cause. Of course, she didn’t know Yara, and couldn't be sure the woman was trustworthy. It could be a ploy, but for what? She was in foreign territory, no official titles to her name, and even if she did kill Sansa, what good would it do her? Sansa had nothing for her to take, her claim to the North useless while the Bolton’s held power. 

If she did combine forces with Yara, and they did manage to reclaim Winterfell, then it would be expected that Sansa would assist her in retaking the Iron Islands just as she would expect Jon to have done. It was a risk to promise to fight in a war that didn’t concern her, but was it a risk worth taking? Of course, that promise depended on Sansa securing her own loyal army, and as of now that was little more than a fantasy. 

It could be years before she had an army of her own, before they had the forces necessary to confront the Boltons. 

“How many fighters are in your ranks?”

The question was blurted into the quiet of the meeting, but Yara wasn’t caught off guard. “Just under 2000.”

Sansa nodded, melting back into her mental calculations. 

It wasn’t a large army, but it was better than travelling as a group of 6. It would give them something to build off. Edd had told her that Jon had brought nearly 3000 wildlings South, so if she managed to find Jon and then recruit even a few houses to her cause, they might stand a chance against the Boltons. 

“Ok,” she declared after a moment, voice strong. “You and your men help to retake Winterfell, and when I amass an army of my own, we help you take back the Iron Islands. We work as equals, and allies.”

Yara’s grin was dangerous, but infectious in its powerful slant. She stepped forward, and offered an arm to Sansa. “Allies.” 

They locked their hands around the others forearms and met eyes. “Allies.” 

They spoke for a little longer about how to proceed from there. 

Sansa still needed to tour around the North and visit households, and doing so with an army - and the Ironborn at that - was not a good idea. Eventually, it was agreed that the army would travel to the foothills of the mountains in the West and set up camp there, where they would wait undetected as Yara and 200 of her men would accompany Sansa and her group on their campaign trail. 

After a few more details were decided upon, Yara and her men left to return to their camp, where Yara would collect her 200 men and her belongings before rejoining Sansa. The army would pack up and head out the following day, sending a scout to join Yara once they had settled so that the travelling retinue where to find them later on.

They waited by the river, dining on fish caught by Gendry and Rowan before spending their time sat on the banks discussing the change of events. Plans had to be rethought to accommodate the addition of an army that, although allied to her cause, was not under her command. 

Now, Sansa could hold her own in a fight, and she was devilishly smart, but she wasn’t a war commander by any stretch. Rowan’s father had been a general, and he’d passed down his vast knowledge to Rowan, and he had taught her what he could but learning it and living it were very different things. She knew the theories, the cautionary tales, but whether or not those would be applicable when needed, only time would tell. Brienne was also a great help. Her time with Renly had taught her invaluable lessons on commanding, and she was level headed and pragmatic. Still, the three struggled in their plans when so much was still to be determined. 

Eventually Sansa began to grow weary of going round and round in circles while trying to figure out the dynamics of blending armies, and talk turned to a lighter topic. Lovenna and Sansa had paired off to take a wash in the river, and Sansa teased the other woman for her reaction to the Greyjoy Queen as the puppy stuck cautious paws into the shallows. 

Lovenna, of course, didn’t deny anything, just made lewd jokes until she’d successfully turned the tables and Sansa was the one begging her to be quiet with flushed cheeks of embarrassment. 

They were still laughing as they headed back from the small offshoot stream to the river, and when they found Yara and her men there waiting, the laughing grew harder. Aware that they were being given funny looks, Sansa choked back her giggles, cleared her throat, and tried hard to keep a straight face. 

“Should we be going then?”

The group began to mobilise, packing up their supplies and fetching the horses. As Lovenna walked off to mount her stallion, Sansa caught the lingering gaze of Yara on her friend’s retreating form, and she couldn’t stop the laughter from starting again. 

  
  


xxx

  
  


They kept going until the moon was at its highest point in the sky, at which point they stopped at the outskirts of the Wolfswood to set up camp. It had been easy riding from the river, the Ironborn splitting into smaller groups and travelling a slight distance behind each other in a procession to increase their chances of moving undetected. To Sansa’s surprise, Yara had joined their group at the front, and they’d learnt more about Euron’s claiming of the Islands and Yara’s plans for retaking them. In return, they told Yara their plans for collecting allies and retaking Winterfell, and the woman seemed approving of their ideas. 

Tomorrow, they would reach Deepwood Motte, and Sansa was panicking a little at the thought. She hadn’t seen Lord Glover since she was a small child, and although he had been loyal to her father, it didn’t mean he’d be loyal to her. She held onto the hope that the fact he hadn’t declared for the Bolton’s was a good sign, but her leg still bounced in agitation as she stared into the campfire. 

Yara’s men had regrouped, and the 200 odd men were gathered around campfires spread across the moor bordering the forest. Sansa and her companions were gathered around one together, but she hadn't paid much attention to their conversation. They were used to this, aware that staring into fires was for some reason where she got lost in her thoughts and so they generally left her to it. Rowan and Gendry had dragged Podrick off to join some of Yara’s men to drink and hear tales of their journeys at sea, and Lovenna and Brienne were doing some light sparring a few metres away.

The clashing of swords was strangely comforting, and covered up the sounds of approaching footsteps on the soft dirt. 

She didn’t know Yara had wandered over until she was sat by her side and holding out a wineskin in offering. Sansa accepted it without really thinking, taking a small sip of the bitter alcohol, unable to hide the wrinkle of her nose as she handed it back. Yara took it with a smirk, tipping her head back to gulp down the wine, no care for the drops that dribbled down her chin as she did so.

Sansa was slightly in awe of Yara. She was tough and brash and blunt and brutal. She was what Sansa imagined Arya to be in the future. Sansa didn’t know much about the woman, of course, but she hoped to learn. 

Finally pulling the empty skin from her lips, Yara wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed it to the floor before turning to appraise Sansa with squinted eyes. 

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” she finally declared. 

Sansa tilted her head a little, then huffed a small laugh. “Everyone seems to think that these days. I’m nothing like the girl I was when I left Westeros.”

“That’s a good thing. From what I hear, you were a prissy little bitch.”

A laugh startled out of Sansa at the blunt statement, the smirk on Yara’s face growing. She sobered after a minute, lips twisted with self-deprecation. 

“I wouldn’t still be here today I don’t think if I’d remained that stupid, naive little girl.”

Yara nodded slowly in understanding. “Women have to grow up and face reality quickly if they stand a chance of survival in this world. Especially for women like us, with highborn names and no parents to defend us. You have to learn to throw a punch and speak your mind or you’ll end up a broodmare in an unhappy marriage with a husband that’s sleeping with the chambermaid.”

“That was the one thing that I promised myself before I left Lys to come back here,” Sansa replied quietly as they both watched the sparring women across the fire. “That no matter what happened, I wouldn’t end up married to another house so that they could use me for my name. I won’t be forced into anything, not by anyone.”

She could feel Yara’s eyes on her, and after a moment she turned to meet the gaze and found a thoughtful expression on the Ironborn’s face. 

“They’d be a fool to try.”

xxx

  
  


The reception from Lord Glover was lukewarm at best as they gathered in the courtyard of Deepwood Motte at midday. Sansa stood front and centre, hands folded behind her back and head held high as she tried to quell the flutters of anxiety in her stomach. Brienne and Podrick stood close behind her, her only company for the parlay.

They’d agreed that as House Glover was known for their old fashioned ways, it was going to be hard enough to convince him to follow Sansa, an unwed young female, without the rest of her party joining them. A couple of rough and tumble foreigners, a bastard blacksmith, and a wannabe-usurper queen from a land with a bad reputation was perhaps not the best way to recruit people.  Brienne and Podrick, with their Southern features and good manners, created a more welcoming image. Judging by the mild disgust that Lord Glover was only half-trying to hide, it was definitely a good thing Yara and the others weren’t there or they probably would have had the door slammed in their faces. The direwolf by her side had also been a strategic move, a brazen symbol that House Stark lived on. The pup seemed to recognise the importance of this moment, for she sat on her haunches by Sansa's side, still and silent as a shadow. 

Forcing a smile to her lips, Sansa bowed her head to the older man. “Lord Glover, thank you for meeting with us. I’m sure you know why I am here.”

“I’m guessing you want to recruit me and my men for your army to take back Winterfell. Though I must say, I did not realise you were even in the country,” he trailed off, eyes glancing from Sansa to her companions and back again. “It’s just you?”

Her jaw tightened. “Yes, My Lord, just me. I’m hoping to reunite with Jon along the way, but I won’t wait to take back my home. I’m hoping that as a house loyal to my family for centuries, you won’t ignore the call to arms.”

He stared down his nose at her, brows knitted. “Do you even have an army? Have other Northern houses pledged to fight for you?”

“You’re the first I’ve approached. I plan on meeting with all houses not tied to the Boltons, and I plan on recruiting them all to my cause.”

He looked at her skeptically, and she dropped the smile. “I can be very persuasive.”

“Why should I help you? My brother and I answered the call when King Robb needed us, and he died in that battle, along with hundreds of our men. Why should I sacrifice more to your cause? Why should I care whether or not a Stark sits at Winterfell?”

“Because you’re blood of the North,” Sansa practically spat, barely containing her anger after the mention of her dear brother threw off her guard. “Winterfell belongs to the Starks. Can you really say that you want the Boltons as the Keepers of the North? We both know the stories of their houses, know the things they do to people. Do you support them? If you do, then why have you yet to publicly declare that support?”

He paused, jaw twitching as he thought up an answer. “I’ve already lost so many people in battles, Lady Stark. I don’t want to lose more. I just want my family to be safe.”

“We both know they’re not safe with the Boltons in power. They helped betray my family, and they won’t hesitate to do the same to yours. If you don’t declare your support for them, they’ll come for you eventually. Even if you do support them, you won’t be safe,” she reasoned, voice soft as she preyed on his weakness. “The Starks, however, have supported your House for centuries. Given you supplies when you asked, housed you when your castle was attacked, fought beside you as brothers in the War.”

She moved forwards till she stood at the base of the steps he stood upon, leaning her head back to maintain eye contact as she played her final card. “My father thought you were a good man. He trusted you, as an ally and a friend. I ask that if you do not heed my call for me, do it for my father.”

The courtyard was still, as if those gathered held their breath in anticipation. She didn’t look away, refusing to back down. He swallowed heavily, an internal struggle waging behind his eyes, till eventually he sighed. 

“I have 500 fighting men. That’s all I can offer you,” he finally relented. “And only if you succeed in recruiting other houses. I won’t send my men into a suicide mission.”

She bit back the wild grin, instead smiling lightly and nodding in thanks. “Of course, Lord Glover. Thank you for your support. I’ll send a raven when the time comes, so prepare your forces.”

Surprisingly, he was the one who offered her his forearm to clasp, even if he did so with a look of defeat. 

Sansa left the meeting on wobbling legs, staggering out of the courtyard flanked by Brienne and Podrick as she tried hard to walk tall. She held her breath until they were back on horses and disappearing into the cover of the woods, shoulders slumping with the force of her exhale. The exhale turned into an elated laugh as they cantered along the trail and back towards their camp, noise lost in the wind.  Her first mission as a leader had been a success, the fact that it wasn’t easily won making it even more satisfying. Of course, she couldn’t count out the possibility of betrayal. His reluctance in their allegiance was obvious, and she had to hold on to the hope that he would not sell her out to the Boltons. She had to believe that he knew his family stood a much better chance of surviving without the Boltons ruling over them. 

Still, leaving the worrying for later, she savoured the feeling as they raced through the evergreens, watching her pup bound through the snow ahead with ease. Lyra, she decided, the name coming to her out of nowhere. Her name was Lyra. 

She shared the news of their slightly fragile alliance with her companions as soon as they’d returned, and although Yara was pleased, she also had less pleasing news of her own. One of her scout teams, a small selection of men travelling without the Ironborn sigil on display, had reported sightings of Bolton soldiers in the Wolfswood, and concerns that they knew Sansa was in the North were high. All it would take was someone along the Kingsroad or one of the inns they’d stopped at to recognise her hair and word would have spread. 

It was something she had expected, and they’d prepared for this instance. Luckily, they were headed in the opposite direction of the spotted patrol, travelling past Deepwood Motte to Bear Island, as House Mormont were Sansa’s next hope for allies. They didn’t hang around, back on the horses within minutes with the army dispersing into their smaller groups and splitting in several directions to avoid easy tracking. 

Sansa relayed the meeting to Yara as they went, positivity remaining despite the possibility of being followed. They picked their way through the trees, staying wary of their surroundings but reaching the peninsula without incident. 

There, the army found a place to wait out of sight from the roads and Sansa, Yara, Lovenna, and Brienne took a boat to Bear Island. House Mormont currently held Lyanna as the Head, and Sansa was unsure of how to appeal to the young girl. She couldn’t pull the 'honouring her father' card as she had with Glover, but maybe she could appeal to the feminist in the girl. House Mormont were known for female warriors fiercer than their male ones, and maybe the girl would appreciate Sansa and her company of equally strong women. 

When they docked on the tiny port, the knights on guard passed them on to a steward who led the way to the tiny keep. He left them outside the main chamber and slipped inside to see if Lady Mormont would receive them, and Sansa wiped sweaty palms on her thighs. 

“She’s a child. Don’t be scared of her,” Lovenna reminded her with an eye roll and a grin, receiving a sharp glare in return. 

“I’m not scared of  _ her, _ ” Sansa barked scathingly, “I’m scared of her saying no. We need more supporters, or Glover won’t help us.” 

Before anyone could reply, the steward returned. “Lady Mormont is meeting with a Lord right now, but she extends an invitation of supper while you wait, and she will meet with you after.”

He led the way down a short corridor and down a flight of stairs into an empty common room. There was a large roaring fire, and the group happily took their seats inside in the warmth rather than out camping in the snow. They were served poultry and warm bread with ale, simple but rich food that Sansa happily wolfed down as she had been too nervous to eat that morning. 

They lazed around the table, Lyra curled up by the fire, laughing about the blooming brotherhood of Gendry, Rowan and Podrick, and how it always seemed to be Podrick that got pulled into the others wild escapades. 

Lovenna was recounting the first night they had stayed at Castle Black, when the boys had gotten drunk enough to think that a snowball fight with unsuspecting Night's Watch members was a good idea, and both Yara and Sansa were falling about laughing. Sansa had tears streaming down her cheeks, Yara pounded her hand on the table as she guffawed, and Lovenna could barely speak through her laughs. Even Brienne, with her disapproving eye rolls, let loose a chuckle as Lovenna recounted how Gendry had fallen up the stairs and managed to somehow pull down Podrick’s trousers in the same move when running from a particularly angry stranger. They were laughing so hard they didn’t hear the door open, or the footsteps that stopped abruptly when they entered the room and saw the women sat there.

It wasn’t until a voice called her name that she looked up, half expecting to see a Mormont guard summoning her - she didn’t register the voice, or the lack of titles. When she looked up, the laughter froze on her lips and her eyes went wide. 

Tears still on her cheeks from laughing, she stood up slowly, legs once again unsteady. Her companions had fallen silent, and she couldn’t stop staring. Unable to say anything, she felt her feet move on their own accord and he mirrored her movements so that they met in the middle of the room, his arms around her waist and hers clutched around his neck as he lifted her from the ground. 

She felt the tears start up again, laughter hysterical this time as she breathed in the scent of snow and woodsmoke and leather. She couldn’t believe it. She’d gone all the way to the Wall to look for him, and now here he was, in the common room of House Mormont. He set her on the floor, pulling away so that they could look at one another, both with wide grins and eyes tracing the others' features as they relearnt the familiar, but still so different faces. 

Eventually, unable to think of anything else to express what she was feeling, she started with something simple. 

“Hi, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Just a quick reminder that I'm diverting a lot from canon, so if things don't match up to the show, they're not meant to. I try to explain these things in the story (eg how Euron took over Iron Islands and Yara came North) and some things I hope you can figure out from context (eg Lord Glover didn't mention the Ironborn taking their castle like he did in the show because it didn't happen in this story), but if you have any questions then leave a comment. 
> 
> (Also I'm very aware that they get around a lot quicker than they could in reality, but a story where all they do is spend weeks on the road is boring and makes for bad pacing so just go with it.)
> 
> I'm not in love with this chapter but I want to move on to the next phase of the story so I decided to just go with it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I appreciate every single one of you for reading, bookmarking, and leaving kudos and comments x


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